


July 24th

by RogersBz14



Category: Call of Duty, Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare - Fandom
Genre: Blood and Torture, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Military, My First Fanfic, hurt!Mitchell - Freeform, protective/worried/concerned!Gideon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3326309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogersBz14/pseuds/RogersBz14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission that goes horribly wrong from the start escalates into a life or death situation for one of Sentinel's soldiers *cough* look at the tags *cough*</p><p>Alone with a severely injured Mitchell, Gideon reflects on their partnership and how they ended up where they are today. While one soldier struggles with guilt and fear, the other is fighting for his life right at Death's door</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all :0)  
> This is my first fan fiction I've EVER written and published. I'm sorry about inaccuracy, bad writing, bad pacing, or simply a bad story. Please feel free to comment/criticize/love/hate this story!  
> I've loved actors Troy Baker and Gideon Emery for a VERY long time and when I heard those two would be in a Call of Duty game, I flipped out, bought a copy as soon as it was released, and played through the campaign all night.  
> I really loved Gideon and Mitchell and had this idea for a story in my head one day after I finished the campaign. This story has been in my head since the game came out and I played it. However, it was today, when my college had a snow day, that I felt extremely motivated to write and share this story  
> There are a couple of torture scenes, so here is a warning for you all :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gideon, Mitchell, and a crew of Sentinel forces go on a mission to gather intel and possibly stop an uprising of unknown soldiers.  
> Their simple mission quickly escalates into a nightmare for everyone on and off the battlefield!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all :0)  
> As I said before, this is my first story I've ever written and published, so I should warn you about the quality of the story! This is completely separated from the actual gameplay but still follows the timeline/cannon.
> 
> Warning: There are a couple of torture scenes, grammatical/spelling errors, and maybe OOC-ness
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!!

  
**(July 24, 2063. 14:00)**  
In the middle of the woods near Saladin Fortress, two soldiers were located in a hidden cabin. One of them, a 46 year old man with short grey hair and a Union Jack Tattoo on the right side of his neck, was sitting on a wooden stool with dried blood covering his hands. Captain Gideon slowly sighed and leaned back against the wall behind him, stretching out his legs in front of him. He glanced to his left and sadly looked at the motionless figure lying on the table next to the stool.

The second soldier, a 37 year old male with long brown hair and a destroyed prosthetic left arm, was that motionless figure on the table. Cuts, gashes, bruises, and stitches covered his face and upper body. Dried blood covered the entire table he was placed on and hardened his clothes. His eyes were closed, hiding his baby blue eyes. His breathing was uneven and loud in the painfully silent cabin. Private Jack Mitchell, longtime partner and friend of Gideon, was dying.

Gideon, unable to stare at the dying soldier anymore, looked down at the floor, staring at his bloodstained hands. ‘He shouldn’t be in this position’ he thought to himself. ‘Mitchell should be awake right now. Talking about the same old shit again with that trademark smile that makes me to punch it right off of his face, playing with all of the toys and gadgets, asking annoying questions.’ His eyes unintentionally found the 45 Extended Mags lying on the floor across the room. Guilt suddenly hit Gideon, making him feel physically ill. Closing his eyes and burying his head in his hands, ignoring the metallic smell of blood, Gideon continued to slowly let his emotions hit him. ‘Fuck, how did we end up here?’ he thought as he felt the sting of tears in his eyes.

_Flashback (7 Days Earlier)_

**(July 17, 2063. 18:00)**  
“Oi, you ready Mitchell?”  
Jack Mitchell looked up from the floor and stared at Gideon. It has been two years since the fall of Irons and Atlas Corporation. Mitchell and Gideon came back to the remains of Sentinel headquarters, exhausted and injured, to be greeted by remaining Sentinel forces, Kingpin, and Ilona. For the past two years, that was all they did: wipe out the remaining forces. This mission, however, was unexpected. Despite their beliefs that Atlas was wiped out completely, Kingpin and his team gathered intel that remaining Atlas forces were alive and were teaming up with unknown forces. It was suggested that the remaining forces were attempting to rebuild Atlas corporation, and, apparently, one of many growing headquarters were in Syria, which is close to the original Atlas headquarters and Sentinel headquarters. Kingpin wanted Sentinel Forces to investigate this sudden uprising. They already lost too many soldiers from Atlas Corporation; Atlas were to grow again, that would potentially cause more damage. However, before they make any rational decisions, they needed information that the bases have been known to have.  
“Yeah” Mitchell replied, his voice still laced with traces of daydreaming. Aside from the mission, he remembered that it has been 6 years since they started working together. Sure, he has known Ilona for 6 years as well, but his relationship with her didn’t feel as personal as his with Gideon. From jumping on top of buses, to escaping a torture chamber, all the way to stopping a missile launch and destroying Atlas Corporations, Mitchell could confidentially say that they have done what a lot of soldiers at Atlas and Sentinel haven’t! He felt lucky that he had that hard-ass, tea-drinking git as his commander for 6 years straight. And, in one week, it would officially mark 7 years together as teammates. ‘Holy shit,’ Mitchell thought. ‘How the hell did I make it this far with him?’ Gideon’s voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts.  
“In one week, huh? Fuckin’ hell…I’m surprised you haven’t gotten me killed yet.”  
‘Fuck, did he hear all of that?’  
Embarrassed, Mitchell directed his attention to the endless trees below him. The silence following that remark was painful and Mitchell wished that the carrier would reach their destination quickly.  
Gideon, on the other hand, was enjoying Mitchell’s awkward behavior. In all honesty, he was glad he was with Mitchell for 6 going on 7 years. They have been through many challenges and missions together, yet they both still came out of them with more respect for each other…or at least Gideon did. He liked the kid a lot and felt more protective of him than the first year they worked together. He knew Mitchell felt the same way. They both would die for each other, during or after their duty. Gideon felt an unstoppable smile appear on his face…not that he would want to stop it anyways.  
“Sentinel Team radio check.”  
Mitchell and Gideon were back in soldier mode when Ilona's voice entered the carrier.  
“Sentinel Two-One, loud and clear.”  
“Sentinel Two-Two, loud and clear.”  
“Alrighty boys,” Ilona continued, “our main destination is 30 miles South of Citadel of Salah Ed-Din. Carrier 223 is waiting for you two. Hover bikes are waiting at the main area where MS Nolan West, Private Andy Smith, and Sergeant William Rogers are. Rogers will explain the rest of the plan once you two are down there. Good luck boys.”  
“Thanks Ilona,” Gideon and Mitchell said in unison.  
Standing up, Gideon got his zipline ready. He aimed the zipline towards a small plain where he could see the other Sentinel forces waiting. Shooting the line down, he attached himself to the line. Before jumping down, he looked at Mitchell and said, “Let’s get it done. I want to make it to seven years without any troubles.” He jumped down and began sliding down to the plain. Mitchell nodded, deployed his zipline, and jumped down, quietly saying under his breath, “me too.”

When he landed on the plain, the carrier took off into the sky.  
“Soldiers.” Rogers acknowledged. “I’m sure you two have been informed of the main plan?”  
“Negative”both Gideon and Mitchell replied.  
“The hover bikes are here. We will ride to the base together and then separate. Gideon, West, and I will enter the base from the front. Mitchell and Smith will enter from the back. We will infiltrate the base, grab as much intel as quickly as we can, and meet up back here.”  
Mitchell’s unchallenging yet concerned voice joined in. “You sure we should separate? We have no official proof that this base is empty. There could be an entire army sitting there, waiting for us to arrive.”  
“We need to cover as many parts of the base as we can before contact appears. If we all start off at the same place and encounter contact, they could sent in reinforcements. We need to cut them off from any chance of doing so if this situation occurs.”  
Rogers could still see the unsure look in Mitchell’s eyes.  
“Look. We will make this as quick as we can. Stealth is key, so move quietly as you can. Keep your guard on and do not engage unless needed.”  
Knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument, Mitchell sighed and nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”  
“Alright men! On to your bikes and move out!”  
All of the soldiers got onto the bikes and rode out towards the base. 30 minutes later, they were one mile away from the entrance. Roger gestured to Mitchell and Smith to head West in order to head around to the back of the building, undetected. Nodding, Smith took off with Mitchell behind him. However, before he started to get any distance, he turned and locked eyes with Gideon. Smirking, Gideon nodded a silent ‘good luck’ to him. Mitchell returned the gesture.  
‘One more week,’ he thought to himself.

Smith and Mitchell arrived at the back of the base undetected, keeping a one-mile radius between them and the building. Once they parked their bikes behind some trees, the put on the exo-cloaks and weapon silencers, and slowly made their way to the base. Mitchell had a MORS Thermal Sight gun, which helped in many ways because he would be able to detect heat signatures from any enemy soldier ahead of time. Both soldiers entered to base and slowly proceeded to make their way to the middle. Throughout their time, they picked up pieces of intel, documents, and anything that looked like useful information. It was 40 minutes later where Mitchell spotted heat signatures through his gun..and when everything went to hell.  
“Mitchell, I am getting multiple heat signatures.”  
“Me too. Let’s take it slow.”  
Unfortunately, as soon as he said that, a grenade went off, sending Smith flying god knows where.  
“Shit!”  
Before Mitchell knew it, gun shots were being fired in his direction.  
“Contact! 12 O’Clock!”  
Using the gun he had, he began to snipe down as many soldiers as he possibly could that were heading in his direction. He went for cover behind a unsteady brick wall and charged his exo suit. It was then when he heard someone on his intercom.  
“Mitchell! What is going on?”  
That wasn’t Roger or Smith’s voice. Gideon.  
“A grenade went off and now soldiers are shooting at us! Where is your team?”  
“We already cleared out our section and got all of the intel. We are heading back to the plain now.”  
Before he could respond, he turned his head and noticed soldiers, at a far distance, getting on hoverbikes different from theirs thankfully. Then the idea that they would be able to track them down froze Mitchell.  
“Gideon! This is extremely important! Take your squad and find someplace to hide!! Enemy soldiers are getting on hover bikes and I think they may be heading to where we originally landed and said would meet up!!”  
“What? How the fuck are we suppose to fin-“  
“GIDEON! JUST DO IT”  
He continued to fire at the soldiers all while frantically talking to Gideon and searching for Smith’s body. After a couple of moments of silence, Gideon defeatedly sighed.  
“Alright. I will contact you when we find a place far enough.”  
“Thank you, Gideon.”  
“Oi, Mitchell?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Don’t get yourself killed.” Gideon’s voice had its usual sarcasm. But this time, it also had fear as well.  
The last time Gideon sounded this worried was when he, Ilona, and Mitchell were trying to get Cormack in time back to Sentinel, or what remained of, Sentinel headquarters. Mitchell understood where Gideon’s fear came from and felt the same way.  
“You too,” Mitchell said in the exact same tone.  
After a couple more minutes, the firing finally stopped. Still keeping his cloak on, he slowly made his way to the bodies in order to see who these soldiers were. One soldier had an Atlas patch on him while another had some patch he had never seen before. On the patch, there was a red bird with blood dripping off it’s claws. What caught his attention were the small gray lines in between the bird’s beak. It was funny, because Sentinel’s main colors we-. Mitchell froze at the realization. This group specifically is targeting Sentinel force. Why, though? The KVA basically were wiped out as almost immediately after Hades’s death. Sentinel had, or rather they thought they had, wiped out Atlas forces. Pulling out his knife, he cut out the patch and put it in his bag that contained all of the stuff he gathered here.  
‘Shit. Smith!’  
He ran over to where he saw Smith go flying after the grenade went off. He saw a limp body on its side, back facing Mitchell, and covered in burn marks and blood.  
‘Oh fuck. Oh fuck,’ he kept chanting in his head.  
He fell onto his knees and gently rolled him over. Smith’s face was burned, but not as seriously as his back. He was about to feel his pulse when a raspy gasp made him freeze.  
“Ohh,” Smith moaned, “fuck me! That really hurt.”  
Mitchell knew that Smith was too dazed and injured to walk, so he quickly yet gently heaved Smith onto his back and began to make his way back to the bikes. While he was running, he gently and constantly encouraged Smith to hang in there and stay with him. Thankfully, a remark, squeeze, or grunt was his response, meaning that he was still with him. Once he made it back to the bikes, he placed Smith on his bike, fastened him in, and ran over to his own bike. He synced Smith’s bike to his own. With one more glance at the empty base, he headed back.  
20 minutes into the journey, he heard Gideon’s voice on his intercom.  
“Mitchell, do you copy?”  
“Loud and clear.”  
Unknown to Gideon, Mitchell could hear Gideon's huge sigh of relief.  
“We located a cabin a couple of miles away from the Saladin Fortress. I will send you our location now on your bike. Meet up there as soon as possible.”  
“Okay! And have MS West ready.”  
“Are you hurt, Mitchell?”  
“No, but Smith is and I can’t tell how bad it is.”  
“Copy that. See you in a bit. Gideon out.”

 **(July 18, 2063. 01:00 hours)**  
The trip to the cabin was an extra 40 minutes from their original location point. When he finally made it to the location, he detached Smith from his bike, and carried him into the cabin.  
The cabin was fairly small: there were only two rooms and each of them was basically empty. One room had an old mattress in one corner, sleeping bags (probably Sentinel’s), and a dusty carpet right in the center. In the other room, a wooden stool and table were placed against the wall. Windows were only located in the main room with the mattress and that was it. All things considering, it could have been worse.  
He gently placed Smith on the mattress where West automatically began to look over his injuries. Backing away so the medic could do his work, he placed the duffle bag containing the intel he gathered on the dirty carpet. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Gideon’s pale and tired face looking at him with concern. Mitchell’s eyes automatically scanned Gideon for injuries. He came noticed that Gideon’s left shoulder was bleeding. Wordlessly, Mitchell walked over to the medkit (which was surprisingly smaller since they began, Mitchell noted) and grabbed a sewing needle, bandages, and cloth patches.  
“I’m fi-“ Gideon began.  
“I was just shot at by dozens of shoulders while my partner got wounded in an explosion.” Mitchell’s voice was laced with exhaustion and defeat. “Humor me.”  
Sighing, Gideon slowly made his way to the wooden stool in the other room so Mitchell could patch him up. While walking, Mitchell noticed that Gideon’s movements were slightly wobbly and disoriented. Blood loss. Quietly, he pulled Gideon’s good arm around his shoulder and guided him to the other room. He was slightly surprised (and concerned) when Gideon made no attempts to protest.  
The patching up process was silent and quick. Both men were lost in their thoughts. One of them was concentrating on his needle work and patching up job. The other one was focused on what they had lost while making their way to the cabin. After stitching up and wrapping Gideon’s shoulder with the gauze and makeshift sling, both men nodded to each other and smiled; both thankful that they were alive and (almost) healthy. MS West and Sergeant Smith came walking into the room. Mitchell looked at West with fear and curiosity, multiple thoughts running through his head about Smith.  
West, seeing Mitchell’s distress, addressed his concern.  
“He has pretty severe burning. He broke three ribs and his right leg is sprained.”  
‘It could have been worse,’ Mitchell silently thought. He outwardly nodded and smiled with gratitude.

“We have a problem,” Rogers began. “When we were heading towards this cabin, we were ambushed and lost almost everything.”  
“What? Is that how Gideon got shot?”  
“Yeah. During the ambush, West lost a majority of his supplies. And Gideon, who was holding the collected intel, dropped it after he got shot.”  
‘Shit’ Mitchell thought.  
He turned to Gideon, who was looking down on the floor with embarrassment and shame. Mitchell gently put a hand on Gideon’s good shoulder and smiled, silently reassuring Gideon that it wasn’t his fault. At first, Gideon didn’t look convinced, but after staring at Mitchell’s smile for a couple of seconds, he couldn’t help but smile back…although he still believed it was his fault they lost almost all of their intel.  
“While you guys were patching each other up, I went back and tried to reclaim the items.”  
“And?”  
“And, they weren’t there…”  
Mitchell was actually surprised by that information. “Where could they have gone? Smith and I wiped out all of the soldiers on our side and before I left, I checked for motion movements on my bike and it said that there were none.”  
Rogers replied, “We believe that there is another base where our stuff was taken. Come with me, please.”  
He walked out of the room, West following him. Glancing at Mitchell, Gideon slowly made his way to the main room with Mitchell behind him. They all sat down on the old carpet. A huge digital map was placed on the ground for the soldiers to see.  
“Citadel of Salah Ed-Din is only 35 miles North East from where we are here. My guess is that our stuff is there…as well as new intel. We need to find the in-“  
Mitchell, slightly concerned by the fact that they were about to head back to the bastards that ambushed them all and wounded Gideon and Smith, raised his voice.  
“Are you sure we should head back there? We just got back from an ambush, two soldiers are W.I.A, and we may be outgunned. Do you really think we should take that risk?”  
Silence filled the cabin. Smith, who was still on the mattress, looked over to the men on the rug. He wanted to say something, but he not only felt exhausted, but he also really couldn’t help out their situation. So he kept his mouth shut,  
“Smith is hurt pretty badly,” Rogers simply stated. “and Gideon has only one arm at the moment. We need the rest of our medkit so both soldiers can heal properly. Plus, we need to make up for the lost intel.”  
Once again, knowing that he wasn’t going to win the battle, Mitchell swallowed his arguments and nodded.  
“Alright. Mitchell and I will go. West, look out for these two.”  
As Rogers and Mitchell stood up to get ready, Gideon suddenly stood up.  
“Woah, what?”  
“You are W.I.A, Gideon. We don’t want to risk losing you in combat with your disadvantage.”  
Mitchell’s voice suddenly chimed in.  
“He’s right. I managed to get some intel and documents. You can encrypt them here while you recover.”  
Gideon automatically protested  
“Mate, it’s two soldiers against what could possibly be a massive fuckin’ army…why don’t we just get in contact with headquarters. They can pick us up and we can regroup and figure out a new plan.”  
“I already tried,” Rogers chimed in, “and I couldn’t reach them. We can’t communicate with them or send them any digital files of the intel you collected. I believe these groups intercepted our contact with headquarters, which is another issue we will take care of while we are there. We will try to intercept or destroy whatever is blocking our connection with Sentinel.”  
Gideon, still looking unsure, worried, and frustrated, sat back down on the rug, defeated. Mitchell looked down at him with confusion and worry.  
“I’ll get our bikes ready,” Rogers said as he left the cabin.  
Quietly, Mitchell kneeled down next to Gideon and forced himself to get into Gideon’s field of vision. Once their eyes locked, Gideon let out a sad smile…  
“Tried not to get killed out there, rookie,” he said sadly.  
Mitchell was thinking about replying with a sarcastic or humor-filled joke, but instead, he simply put his hand on Gideon’s good shoulder, and smiled.  
“Don’t worry. I was trained by the best.”  
Gideon’s smile became one with happiness and warmth. He lifted up his hand that wasn’t restricted by the sling, and gently patted Mitchell’s flesh arm. After remaining in that position for a few seconds, Mitchell cleared his throat and stood up to walk to the door. Before he exited, he turned back to Gideon and smiled.  
“Only six more days, mate.”  
At first, Gideon was confused by what he meant. However, by the time he realized what Mitchell had meant, Mitchell was already out the door.

 **(July 18, 2063. 02:30)**  
The ride to the fortress was shorter than both soldiers originally predicted. Around 03:00, ten minutes after they departed the cabin, they arrived at the fortress. Because it was on a hill, the two soldiers had to leave their bikes on the ground level and proceeded on foot. With their eco cloaks on, they made their way to the back of the fortress.  
“Alright Sentinel Two-Two, stay quiet, stay alert, and stay safe.”  
“Copy that, Sergeant.”  
They quietly made their way into the fortress. Thankfully, because the fortress was extremely old, they didn’t have to worry about sensors detecting and scrambling their exo-suits. One less thing to worry about. As they paved through the fortress, gathering more intel and searching for medical supplies, Mitchell began to think about West, Smith, and Gideon back at the cabin. He kept praying that they would be safe there and that no other surprise ambush would occur.  
“Mitchell! I think I found something.”  
Broken out of his thoughts, Mitchell quickly recharged his cloak, and made his way to where Rogers was standing. In this room, there were hundreds of wires, communicators, speakers, etc…everything you would need to transmit or intercept messages. What luck.  
“Find out what is intercepting our communication with Sentinel and destroy it.”  
Immediately, he began looking at all of the wires, monitors, and other pieces of equipment that could play a role. After 15 minutes of searching, Mitchell finally came across a box of cables that seemed to connect the groups signals with almost every other source of communication in the world..including Sentinels. He grabbed his knife and quietly cut up all of the wires..obviously it wasn’t the most professional thing to do, considered that there are soldiers who are trained to do this shit. But it was only him and Rogers…the rules would have to deal for now. By the time he was finished cutting up all of the wires, Mitchell smiled with satisfaction. He stood up and began to turn around only to find a gloved hand grab his head and slam it into a control panel. By the time Mitchell figured out what was going on, he was on the ground, bring his hand up to his bleeding forehead. He tried to stand up, but quickly received a VERY strong kick to the stomach and chest. Trying to catch his breath, he lied on the ground, shocked and confused. However, his heart froze when he saw Rogers on the ground as well, holding up his hands in surrender. He suddenly felt himself crawl towards the sergeant, but he was lifted off the ground, had his helmet torn off, and felt fists of fury punching him across his face multiple times. By now, Mitchell was limp in his captors hold, stunned by what just happened. Although conscious, he still couldn’t make his body move. Suddenly, a tall man dressed in all red, face covered by a red balaclava, pointed at him. As they began to drag him away from the room, he saw another soldier come up to Rogers and pressed a handgun to the back of his head. Panicked, Mitchell broke out of his stupor to fight against the hands that were restraining him and to defend Rogers. Suddenly, a powerful hand grabbed the back of his head and slammed it face-forward into a desk with a sickening crack. Mitchell saw stars as he landed back on the ground. Before he blacked out, he saw Rogers smiling at him with reassurance before the gun went off.

 **(July 18, 2063. 11:00 hours)**  
The first thing Mitchell registered was the throbbing pain in his head. His eyes felt like they were about to explode, so he kept his eyes closed: he decided to use his other senses to help him figure out where he was. He could feel unbelievably tight binds around both of his arms; even the slightest movement would draw blood. He could feel a damp substance underneath his cheek. The throbbing in his head finally died down, prompting Mitchell to slowly open his eyes. When his vision came into focus, he realized that the dampness on the floor he was feeling was blood…his blood coming from the gash on his head. He noticed that his exo-suit was gone and that he was wearing his t-shirt and army pants he had worn underneath the suit. He was lying on his side with his hands tied in front of him. He could taste blood in his mouth, causing him to spit it out. His stomach and chest ached like hell…to sum it up, he looked and felt like shit.  
Mitchell tried to remember what had happened that led him to this moment, but nothing came up. The last thing he remember was, “six days.” What the hell did that mean?  
Without warning, a tall man dressed in red came striding into the room. As soon as he came into Mitchell’s line of vision, all the memories leading up to today (or whatever day it was) hit him harder than the van the KVA drove into him right before he killed Hades. The final flashback that hit him was Rogers giving him a look of reassurance before a gun went off. That memory sparked rage and anger in him. Ignoring the aches and pain in his body, he quickly stood up (to the best of his ability) and charged towards the man. A fist came out of nowhere and slammed right into his cheek, ripping off skin and shedding blood. Stunned by the blow, he toppled backwards, only to be caught by a strong pair of hands. Grabbing his hair, the man dragged him out of the room he was in and into another room…this room, however, was a lab. The man forcefully turned Mitchell around, grabbed his face, and forced the rest of his body down onto a lab table. Mitchell began to struggle out of pure fear rather than anger. Suddenly, without warning, two more pairs of hands grabbed each of his flailing arms and spread them outwards, pinning them with a lock like the ones in Atlas’s research lab. When he finally calmed down and regained control of his body, he looked downwards and realized that he was in the exact same position as he was when he woke in the research lab right before Irons shot Cormack; his body was in the form of a cross…except this time he wasn’t standing up.  
“Who are you guys?”  
The men in the lab briefly stopped with what they were doing when Mitchell spoke, but then proceeded to continue their work.  
“What the hell is going on?”  
Ignored.  
The man dressed in red suddenly appeared with a Ka-Bar Marine Corps Fighting Knife (Mitchell had seen those knives during his brief time in the Marines. Those things were ancient, but fucking powerful.) The man brought the tip of the knife to Mitchell’s prosthetic arm, lightly sliding it across his arm.  
Flashbacks of Irons destroying Mitchell’s arm overwhelmed him, and rather than asking more questions, he simply braced for the pain to come.  
Without warning, the masked stranger stabbed Mitchell’s arm from the end where his flesh meets his prosthetic arm, and slowly made a perfect straight incision down his lower arm. He was ripping open Mitchell’s arm.  
Considering that his fake arm was attached to his actual nerve system, Mitchell screamed at the agonizing pain. His scream echoed throughout the entire room (and possibly the entire fortress). Tears suddenly came out of his eyes and rolled down the side of his face. A belt was placed in his mouth that would not only muffle the screams, but also to prevent him from biting off his own tongue.  
Mitchell couldn't tell how long he had been screaming, but he knew it was for quite some time. By the time the cutting stopped, Mitchell felt light-headed, weak, and exhausted. Turning his head to the left, he saw that the masked man was holding the wires and gadgets that were used to create and help function Mitchell’s arm. Before he passed out, Mitchell realized that he couldn’t feel his left arm at all.

 **(July 18, 2063. 16:00 hours)**  
Once again, Mitchell woke up back on the floor he originally woke up to. Without moving the rest of his body, he slowly moved his head towards his left arm, which was lying in front of him…the damage was indescribable. There was now basically a giant, empty hole in his left arm. Swallowing, he turned his head back to the original position, lying limp on the ground facing towards the door. He could feel fresh tears come out of his eyes and make their way across his forehead and nose bridge. When he swallowed the lump in his throat, he could taste a lot of blood. Shuttering, he closed his eyes and began to think about failing the mission and, most importantly, failing Smith and Gideon. Both men, wounded, waiting for medical supplies and intel. How the hell was he suppose to tell the remaining soldiers that Rogers was KIA? These thoughts suddenly made him even more upset.  
The door slammed open and a chair was brought into the center of the room. Placed right behind Mitchell’s form, two men roughly grabbed Mitchell, shoved him onto the chair, and tied his arms back behind the chair. Considering that he had no feeling in his left arm now, it wasn’t as painful as the time they brought him to the lab. The man in red, who destroyed his arm, moved to stand in the corner of the room, silently playing with a butterfly knife. Swallowing, Mitchell braced himself for another surgical procedure. That idea was quickly forgotten by a baseball bat hitting his stomach, causing him to double over as far as the chair would let him, in pain. Before he could recover, another swing of the bat hit him, this time in the chest, literally taking his breath away. The swings continued to hit him over and over in the same places. Mitchell didn’t have a chance to recover from any of the blows. However, once the blows finally stopped, Mitchell was able to breath again..except it hurt like hell to breath now.  
‘Punctured lung’ he thought to himself  
‘Broken ribs’  
‘Internal bl-‘  
Before he could finishing his list, a painfully painful hit across his face stunned him. Vision blurry, he could barely make out that what he had been hit with was a knuckle duster. Spitting out blood that collected in his mouth from that hit plus the internal bleeding, he managed to ask one question before the blows continued.  
“Why?” He rasped.  
“You killed Irons.” the man in red who responded was now heading towards Mitchell. He grabbed locks of Mitchell’s hair and forced him to look in the eyes. “Power changes everything...And WE have the power. Atlas will rise again.”  
He let go of Mitchell’s head, which landed on his chest with a soft ‘thump.’  
“What is your real name, kid?”  
That question took Mitchell off guard. Why would they be interested in his name? Were they going to look him up and kill everyone he cared about? Besides Gideon, Ilona, and some Sentinel members, he didn’t really have anyone to fight for. Maybe he should just tell him his real name. Then again, he would be putting Ilona and Gideon in danger if he did so…no. He couldn’t afford to lose another friend he cared about..not again.  
“Troy,” he arguably horribly lied.  
Another hit to the face stunned Mitchell. The hits continued, the beatings continued, and Mitchell began to wish that he had died with Irons on the burning skyscraper.

 **(July 19, 2063. 09:00)**  
Mitchell had no idea how long he was unconscious. He didn’t even know when he blacked out. He went through the same process he previous did the two times previously he woke up…this time, he didn’t wake up with any emotions. His body was in such pain that it became numb and his optimism became pessimistic. He had given up.  
The front door suddenly swung open and he felt himself being helped off the ground. His legs were too weak to support his battered body, so he instantly collapsed back to the ground. A pair of hands gently and slowly helped him back up.  
“We don’t have time. You need to try to run…or at least fast walk.”  
“Who ar-“ Mitchell began.  
“Not now. Let’s just move.”  
The stranger led the way, quietly coaxing Mitchell to move at his pace. At first, the idea of even walking seemed out of reach for Mitchell, but after a couple of seconds stumbling and using the wall for support, he finally found a pace that he could move quickly at without putting even more strain on his body.

The journey moved in a blur for Mitchell…mostly because he was going in and out of consciousness while running.  
“FUCK,” he heard the stranger yell.  
Before Mitchell could process what was going on, a bullet shot straight through his left shoulder. Compared to the pain he felt when his lower arm was being ripped open, the bullet didn’t affect him as much. In fact, he didn’t even register it until the shootout ended. A soldier with the bird patch he saw earlier suddenly appeared in front of him. For some unknown reason, Mitchell got an adrenaline rush and took down the man with only his right arm; knocking the soldier off of his feet and stomping on his skull until he felt bloody seep into his boots. He quickly took the gun the soldier had and began firing at whoever stood in the way of his bullets. He charged through the sea of bullets, firing at whoever, until he found a safe zone to rest for a couple of seconds. When his gun ran out, he took down another soldier with his right arm, took their weapon, and continued to fire. He didn’t realize how many minutes or hours had passed, but when the adrenaline decreased, he realized that every soldier was dead…except the one who was helping him. Slowly, he stood up and began to limp toward the soldier, who was just finishing his last kill. Once again, Mitchell felt his legs buckle and he fell to the floor, only to be caught by the soldier. After taking several deep breaths, he managed to stand on his own and the two of them continued their leave.  
After a couple of more shootouts, Mitchell and the stranger finally came out into the sunlight. It blinded Mitchell’s eyes and he almost fell backwards off of the cliff the fortress was located on. He looked down at a hover bike (that was not his, but Rogers) and noticed that a medical kit AND what he guessed was the intel were all laying on top of the bike. He felt the biggest smile pop up on his face. Without warning, he heard a grunt, followed by the sound of flesh being ripped open. He quickly turned around and saw a huge laser blade impaling the stranger that helped him. The stranger crumpled on the dirt ground in an ugly heap. Before Mitchell could process what happen, the blade was suddenly approaching him and was aiming at his chest. Despite his battered body’s protest, he quickly dodged the attack and stood in a fighting stance. He only had his right fist, but damn it, he would survive this. He had endured too much pain to die now. He wanted to go back to the cabin, be with Gideon and the rest of the crew, and just get back home.

The man holding the blade was, you guessed it, the man in red. What shocked Mitchell the most though was that he could now see that the man was missing an arm as well…except now it was replaced with a better-looking prosthetic one with, what Mitchell assumed, the equipment that was originally in Mitchell’s arm. Anger suddenly overwhelmed him and he found himself charging at the man, dodging (almost) every swing. After knocking the man on the ground, Mitchell ran faster than he had ever ran before, grabbed the blade that was now on the ground, and stabbed the man over and over and over again. Every stab made up every wound he received, every hour he spent lying in the “dungeon,” every hour Gideon kept waiting for him, and for Rogers. And when the man’s face become nothing more than a pile of blood and brain pieces, he moved to the strangers prosthetic arm and quickly sliced it open, taking every single wire and gadget that was in his arm. Sighing with exhaustion, Mitchell collapsed on the ground, staring at the blue sky. He could feel a thick and warm liquid running down his back, slowing pooling underneath him. Ignoring the new injury, he decided to shift his attention to some tiny clouds that slowly made their way across his field of vision. Fighting the urge to pass out, he slowly made his way back to the now dead figure of the stranger that helped him escape. In the sunlight, Mitchell could now see that the stranger was wearing all Sentinel armor, so it would be impossible to see his face. The possibility of his protector being Rogers briefly came across his mind, but he dismissed the thought. No way someone could survive getting shot in the back of the head…could they?  
He placed his hand over the stranger’s heart for a couple of seconds, a gesture for gratitude and respect. After doing so, he began to limp towards the edge of the cliff, aiming to make his way down to the awaiting bikes. Suddenly, without warning, his vision became extremely blurry and doubled. Mitchell tried to grab onto something to steady himself, but he realized that he was grabbing air. He felt his body shift dangerously to his left and before he could comprehend what was going on, he found himself rolling down the edge of the cliff. Every bump and blow to his body when his body connected to the rubble made his body scream in pain. He lost consciousness when his head slammed against the rear of the hover bike.

 **(July 19, 2063. 17:00 hours)**  
Instead of his usual waking up groggy and disoriented, Mitchell jolted awake. The pain of his old wounds, followed by the new wounds he sustained from his recent battle and fall stung and throbbed. He could feel dry blood all over his upper half and face. Fresh blood began to trickle down his face. His old wounds reopened and new wounds appeared. Briefly wondering how he got here, he closed his eyes for a second before snapping them open.  
‘I’m free’ he remembered.  
With new found energy, he quickly, yet painfully, jumped onto the bike, wrapping the medical kit and intel around his chest, despite his body’s protest. He activated the hover bike and sped off towards the cabin.

The entire way, Mitchell’s vision went in and out of focus. Exhaustion, wounds, dehydration, and famine attacked his body. His grip on the handlebar began to weaken more and more. He was about to pass out and fall off of the bike when a staticky voice appeared out of nowhere.  
“Mitchell? Mitchell!! Can you hear me, mate?”  
Gideon. Mitchell jolted back into complete consciousness. He tried to reply with the energy and happiness he was feeling but instead, his reply came out as a weakened whisper.  
“Gideon?”  
“Mitchell, are you okay?!”  
‘He is panicking. That is new’ Mitchell thought.  
“Mitchell!”  
“Loud and clear, Gideon.”  
“Fuck, Mitchell. You ever decide to not pick up when I’m calling you, I will break your neck with one hand! Do you have any fucking clue how long you two have been away? And what the fuck happened to Sergeant Rogers?”  
“To answer the second one, Rogers is K.I.A. I honestly don’t have the answer for the first question.”  
“Fuck me.” He heard Gideon swore.  
After a couple of moments of silence, he heard Gideon’s raised voice…it sounded distracted this time.  
“Shit. We’ve got company. Try to get here as soon as possible!!”  
“Copy that, Gideon.”  
Mitchell boosted the engine and continued to make his way towards Gideon and the others. Suddenly, his bike picked up motion coming a couple of miles in front of him. As he got closer and closer, the pacing of the monitor became louder and constant. Mitchell looked down at the pad and noticed that there were 8 red dots in a perfect line. To the left of the line, he saw three figures basically huddled together. The cabin. Those were soldiers and they were about to fire at the cabin and kill everyone in there.  
Mitchell boosted the bike even faster, making sure that his bike perfectly aligned with the linear mark on his pad. The line was only feet away from his bike.  
“Fuck it,” Mitchell said.  
He angled the bike so that he safely detached from his bike while the bike was moving. He jumped off the bike, bags in tow, and glided on the ground. However, due to his wounds, he didn’t land as gracefully as he usually would. After doing a barrel roll, Mitchell lied on the ground for a second, dazed and confused. Shaking that feeling off, he jumped back onto his feet and he ran (or rather fast-limped) towards the cabin. As he “ran” towards the cabin, he could see some soldiers lying on the ground, unmoving. He could also make out his bike, which was now on its side and covered in vines, dirt, and blood. He picked up the first gun he saw on the ground and began to take down the remaining soldiers who managed to survive a hoverbike hitting them at almost 85 miles per hour. After a couple of minutes of shooting, he sighed heavily and collapsed on his knees. Seeing the cabin door gave him enough energy to head towards the cabin. He picked himself up and slowly began to walk. Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind and began to wail on him; punching and kicking him with the force of Hulk himself. Mitchell fought back with his one arm, which he was probably sure he sprained when he jumped off of the bike. He deflected blows and even managed to get a couple of his own.  
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out in the forrest.  
The soldier Mitchell had been fighting with instantly collapsed dead on the ground. But Mitchell couldn’t celebrate because when he looked down at his own chest, he noticed a single fresh bullet wound just inches above his heart. Blood instantly began to spread around the wound. Stunned, he looked up at his shooter and froze.  
Gideon was standing at the cabin door, a 45 Extended Mags in both hands, and looked like he had just murdered the most important person in his life.  
“Oh my god,” Gideon breathed out in absolute shock and regret, “Mitchell…”  
Mitchell could feel his body shutting down from the recent events. His legs began to shake and his vision began to swim. So he made one final act before he could pass out (and possibly never wake up again). He took in a deep breath, charged into the cabin, ignoring the horrifying look Gideon had on his face, threw the bags of supplies and intel on the old carpet, and sighed.  
His vision went black and his legs buckled under him. However, instead of feeling a hard, wooden floor beneath him like he expected, he felt a strong pair of arms wrap around his shoulders, breaking his fall.  
“Fuck,” Mitchell gasped before he sank into oblivion.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I continue or should I just stop??
> 
> Take Care and Party Hard :0)


	2. Chapter 2 (Gideon’s POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final part of Chapter 1 from Gideon's perspective and the aftermath of his actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey :0)  
> Here is the second chapter! It is MUCH shorter from the first one! I am sorry if the first chapter was too long or horribly spaced. I will try to keep the chapters shorter!
> 
> If you see any errors with dates/characters/etc., please let me know! I hope you all enjoy!

**(July 19, 2063. 17:00 hours)**  
Looking out the cabin door for the 50th time in the last thirty minutes, Gideon sighed and returned his attention to some documents he was holding. He could say with complete honesty that this was not only one of the most fucking boring jobs he has ever done, but it was also the most frustrating jobs he has ever done. Considering he was born 2015, technology was becoming a monumental collection; at a young age, he quickly adapted to the technology bandwagon and taught himself how to use technology for others advantage. Despite having a good night’s sleep for once and now working with two hands than one, trying to encrypt symbols, different languages, and other odd-looking documents would be a much easier task if he had Atlas technology, hell even Sentinel’s toys would help him get this shit done faster.  
What also didn’t help his slow progress was the fact it has been roughly 39 hours since Rogers and Mitchell left. Rogers said that the fortress was only 35-Miles NorthEast from this cabin. With hoverbikes, they should have been back hours ago. Something had happened and Gideon knew it.  
“Fuck” he whispered to himself, rubbing his chin in frustration.  
Standing up, he stretched his arms out and began to pace around the cabin, calming his nerves. He couldn’t afford to get all worried and panicked about two soldiers possibly being K.I.A, even if one soldier was one of his best as well as closest friend. He had to get his work done, try to take care of Smith, and then he can worry about his friend.

“Gideon,” West yelled from the other room, “I’m getting a signal from a motor bike heading in our direction.”  
“What?!” Gideon ran quickly into the room. “Whose signal is it?”  
“Rogers' bike, sir.”  
“Can we get in touch with him?”  
“I think so. Our connection isn’t as strong as it usually would be, but considering the circumstances, this is a good sign.”  
He handed Gideon a pad that would allow him to communicate with any hoverbike that was part of their squad.  
“Rogers, do you copy?”  
Silence.  
“Rogers?”  
More silence.  
‘Why isn’t the bloody idiot picking up?’  
Suddenly, Gideon had another idea.  
“Mitchell, do you copy?”  
Silence. Gideon was starting to worry.  
“Mitchell? Mitchell!! Can you hear me, mate?”  
A weak whisper replied. “Gideon?”  
Although he would later punch himself 5 times for feeling this way, Gideon could feel his heart flutter with relief and joy. Going back into solider mode, he continued:  
“Mitchell, are you okay?!”  
He really hated how panicked he sounds, but he couldn’t really help it. There was no immediate reply.  
“Mitchell!”  
“Loud and clear, Gideon.”  
“Fuck, Mitchell. You ever decide to not pick up when I’m calling you, I will break your neck with one hand! Do you have any fucking clue how long you two have been away? And what the fuck happened to Sergeant Rogers?”  
“To answer the second one, Rogers is K.I.A. I honestly don’t have the answer for the first question.”  
Gideon’s swallowed and took in both pieces of information. Not only was Rogers K.I.A, Mitchell also had no fucking clue what day it was. This was not good.  
“Fuck me.”  
Smith’s voice was quietly calling him from the other room.  
“Gideon, I see almost a dozen soldiers at 3 O’Clock.”  
Gideon put down the communicator and ran into the other room to see what Smith was talking about. Gideon could see eight soldiers, dressed in black jogging right in front of their cabin entrance. Half of the soldiers had basic machine guns, nothing this crew couldn’t handle. But once he saw a couple of EM1 Red Dot Sights, guns that are basically like lasers and can cut through almost everything with ease, Gideon knew this could be difficult. They needed as much help as they could possibly get, so he ran back to the communicator and quickly told Mitchell, “Shit. We’ve got company. Try to get here as soon as possible!!”  
“Copy that, Gideon.”

As soon as he disconnected from Mitchell, he grabbed his gun, armed the other two soldiers with their own, and they all kneeled together. On Gideon’s mark, the ever so quietly and slowly made their way towards the windows. They didn’t even completely reach the windows when they suddenly heard the sound of an engine going at, from what Gideon could tell, a pretty high velocity. The sound suddenly died down and was instantly replaced with sounds of yelling, crashing, cracking, snapping, and screeching. The three soldiers went up to the windows and saw that almost all of the soldiers had been taken down by a motorbike, for the motorbike was lying a couple of feet away from the bodies, covered in blood and dirt. Gunshots broke the brief silence and Gideon went into commander mode.  
“West, check the perimeter of the building quickly and quietly. Smith, stay here in case anyone comes in. I’ll search out the front. Move out.”  
They all moved to their assigned positions automatically. Gideon held his gun up and slowly checked the front area of the cabin. He was automatically greeted by the sight of an enemy soldier with his back turned away from him. He looked like he was struggling with something; he was probably trying to reload his gun. Without any more thought, Gideon raised his gun and fired. The bullet went straight through his heart, killing him instantly. Gideon’s moment of pride and victory instantly froze and shattered when he saw what, or rather who, was behind the soldier.

Mitchell, covered in dry and flesh blood from head to the end of his torso, was looking up at him with shock and maybe a hint of betrayal. Gideon looked at Mitchell’s completely destroyed left arm and then his eyes traveled to the blood that was quickly making it’s way across his chest. The source of the blood flow was a single bullet wound literally inches away from his heart. The realization hit Gideon with a force that almost made him collapse on the ground.  
He had shot Mitchell.  
He knew the wound he gave Mitchell could be potentially fatal. A fatal wound on top of a laundry list of other serious injuries? Gideon knew he fucked up big time.  
He tried to say “sorry” or “why didn’t you say something?” Instead, he could only breath out a simple sentence.  
“Oh my god. Mitchell…”  
He wanted to help him or continue to talk to him, but he found himself be gently yet quickly nudged aside by Mitchell himself, who happened to gain enough strength to walk into the cabin. Turning his head, he noticed that Mitchell dropped a duffle bag that contained medical supplies and another that contained what Gideon assumed was intel. He felt a small smile begin to creep on his face. However, that smile quickly died when he noticed Mitchell’s legs fold underneath him. Instantly, Gideon sprinted forward and wrapped his arms around Mitchell’s shoulders, making his descent towards the ground less painful and more gentle. As he lowered Mitchell down onto the ground, he could have sworn he heard Mitchell curse.   
Once he placed Mitchell on the ground, Gideon immediately covered his hands over the fresh bullet wound, considering that is where the current source of blood was coming from. He turned to Smith, who looked like he had just seen a ghost.  
“Get West in here, NOW!”  
Without a second though, Smith jumped up from his place and ran (or rather tried to run to the best of his ability due to his injuries) to find West. He didn’t want to scream West’s name, for there could still be enemy soldiers around.

Gideon kept his hands on the bullet wound and used this opportunity to try to look at the other wounds Mitchell sustained. His face was covered with cuts and bruises, probably made by a knuckle duster, Gideon concluded. There was a huge gash on Mitchell’s forehead that, thankfully, looks like stopped bleeding a while ago. His right hand looked slightly swollen and there were small cuts across the end of his wrist, which looked like he was bound by something. Gently, removed one of his hands from where they were placed over the wound and lifted up Mitchell’s t-shirt. His entire chest and torso was nothing but bruises of all colors: some areas were completely black and dark blue, while others looked yellow and green. He gently touched Mitchell’s chest and could automatically tell he had some broken ribs. Wincing, he gently pulled down Mitchell’s shirt and placed his hand back onto the wound.  
‘Jesus fucking Christ, Mitchell’ Gideon silently cried, ‘what the fuck did you do?’

West and Smith ran back into the main room. West took out the medical kit Mitchell threw down onto the ground and began his assessment.  
“Gideon,” West said, sounding distracted, “help treat Smith’s burns while I do this. Then Smith, rebind Gideon’s shoulder wound.”  
Both men didn’t want to argue with their only medical soldier, so they silently stood up, grabbed the supplies they needed to patch each other up, and sat down on the mattress to get the job done. Both men were quick with their work; considering that both men had the chance to rest and heal up, their wounds weren’t as bad as they could have been if they automatically jumped into action. While Smith was rebinding Gideon’s wound, Gideon couldn’t help but stare at Mitchell’s battered body. The amount of guilt he felt began to overwhelm him, so once Smith finished patching him up, Gideon headed outside towards the dead bodies.  
“Where are you going?”  
Without stopping, Gideon replied, “I’m going to make sure the bastards outside are actually dead and stay dead.”

Gideon walked outside and while he checked to see if enemy soldiers were alive, he also began to collect all of the enemy soldiers guns and armor, peeling off a soldier’s uniform as well. As he was walking back, he noticed a soldier attempting to crawl away. Gideon dropped the items he was carrying and ran over to the soldier, anger and hatred boiling his senses. He stomped on the soldier’s head, knocking him out instantly. Rather than heading back, Gideon continued to stomp the man's head almost as if the soldier was a walker from _The Walking Dead_. He had to blow off some steam before he went back in. He imagined that his own head was underneath his boot; he deserved it after all for not only dropping the intel to begin with, but for also failing to protect his own teammates and shooting one of his closest friends. After a couple of minutes of stomping and kicking, Gideon took a deep breath and calmly walked back to the cabin, items in tow. He unceremoniously dropped them onto the rug where all of the other crap was and made his way back to Smith, West, and Mitchell.

Kneeling down in front of West, so that his knees were behind Mitchell’s head, he tried to make himself appear in the soldier’s line of vision. When West looked up from Mitchell and stared at Gideon, he shook his head.  
“I’ll just be straight forward: it’s really bad, Gideon. All of the beatings he took plus this bullet wound and slice across his back...it may be too much for his body. Hell, I’m surprised this tough son of a bitch hasn’t died yet to be honest.”  
Gideon closed his eyes and took it all in. ‘Basically he’s dying’ he told himself.  
When he opened his eyes, he noticed that the medical soldier was putting on surgical gloves and getting out hundreds of tools out.  
“I need you two to hold him down.” he said as he got a syringe ready. “This is not going to be pleasant and we can’t afford to let Mitchell agitate his wounds even further.”  
Nodding, Smith put his weight on Mitchell’s legs and some on his upper torso while Gideon placed one hand on Mitchell’s flesh arm and another on top of Mitchell’s forehead.  
“It’s going to be alright, Mitchell. I gotcha. It’s going to be okay.”  
His whispers of reassurance and comfort were drowned out by a scream from Mitchell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Call of Duty Wiki, Gideon was born in 2015! So Happy BirthYEAR, Gideon :0) May you grow up to be the sassy Commander we all know and love!
> 
> I hope you all at least thought it was okay! I will try to update small chapters throughout the week. I just wanted to get the main story and events taken care of before I went into more calmer events.
> 
> Take Care and Party Hard


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long night and bloody night, the soldiers finally have some time to rest and a more gentle side of Gideon is shown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Chapter 3!
> 
> Once again, sorry if there are any grammatical errors! I'm not that great at keeping track of past/present tense.
> 
> This is still a flashback! If I write some more, there will only be one more chapter that is set in before the opening paragraphs in Chapter 1. Don't worry, things will pick up after this chapter ;)

**(July 19, 2063. 22:00)**

If any tourist or wanderer came across the empty cabin before July 19, 2063, they probably would've thought it was paradise...or at least a decent place to stay. The cabin wasn’t hideous and it also had a nice yet slightly old rug right in the center, adding some life into the what could have been dull place. It was a silent, in the middle of some beautiful scenery, yet it provided anyone who visited serenity and calmness. However, if anyone were to enter the cabin now, it would look like an episode of CSI with a dash of Friday the 13th. The beautiful scenery was now replaced with dead bodies, one body in particular with it’s head stomped on until it was nothing but a stream of slim. A hoverbike could also be seen on its side, leaving a trail of destruction behind it. The silence was replaced with men shouting orders at each other and once in a while screams that would shake the very foundation of the cabin. Inside the cabin, the once empty main room was now covered in wet towels soaked in blood, medical supplies tossed in many directions, barely used sleeping bags, documents and other gadgets scattered all over the floor, and four men covered in blood. And the twist: only one of the men was actually losing all of that blood. The once beautiful cabin was now untouchable and unapproachable.

Five hours after Mitchell literally crashed into the cabin, gave his fellow comrades a heart attack, and screamed in ways none of his fellow soldiers ever wanted to hear him scream, the cabin was finally silent. His most life-threatening injuries --the gunshot wound near his heart and on his shoulder, the huge slash across his back, the gash on his head, the broken ribs -- had been treated and bandaged to the best of anyone’s ability. They would deal with the arm tomorrow. Ice packs were being prepared so they could be placed on Mitchell’s bruised upper torso as well as right hand, which thankfully lost a lot of its original swelling. They decided that they would wash away the remaining dried up blood on his face once they got him on a more elevated surface. After the men changed their bloody clothes and got into their sleeping clothes, they began the task of cleaning up. While Smith was carefully picking up and disposing the used medical supplies, bloody towels, and now blood stained carpet, Gideon and West were debating how to carry Mitchell onto a more elevated surface. Gideon looked into the other room, which was last occupied by himself and West while they were trying to communicate with Mitchell earlier that day.

“There's a table in the other room” He said. “It looks like it will support his weight and height. Sound good?”

“Yes, but I am trying to calculate how we should move him without causing any more damage or aggravating his other wounds” West replied. “He should be lying as flat as he can be while we lift him up.”  
After a minute of silence, Gideon spoke up.

“How about bridal-style? You support his legs while I support his upper half. We'll walk side-by-side and slowly carry him to the table.”  
Considering this option, West finally nodded.  
“Okay. But please, for the love of God, be careful! He already has internal bleeding and you could possibly make it wo-”  
Gideon instantly replied, a chunk venom in his voice, “You don’t think I know that already?”   
Both men kneeled down on Mitchell’s right side, their hands ready for the task. While West’s hands quickly slid underneath Mitchell’s legs and lower torso, Gideon was preparing to place his hands underneath Mitchell’s back and hip. However, before he did so, he gently placed both on Mitchell’s arms onto his stomach so that they wouldn’t flop around while they were trying to carry him to the other room. Making sure that Mitchell’s right arm was gently secured against his own stomach, Gideon gently slid his arms underneath their assigned positions.  
“Alrighty,” West began, “One….Two...Three.”  
As soon as they lifted Mitchell up, Gideon noticed that his head was about to fall backwards, so he quickly yet gently move his hand from underneath Mitchell’s upper back to his shoulders and dipped his own shoulder down so that it would catch Mitchell’s lolling head. Satisfied with the results, both men continued to carry their cargo to the room. With Mitchell’s head now gently resting on Gideon’s shoulder and almost in the crook of his neck, Gideon felt a wave of relief when he could feel warm puffs of air hitting his neck. ‘At least he is alive’ he thought. He never noticed Smith running past them in order to hang up a powerful lantern above the table, providing the men with a strong amount of light in the otherwise dark cabin. Smith then quickly ran back out of the room in order to let the other two soldiers carry their cargo.

Once they made it into the room, both men gently lowered the body onto the table. West first put Mitchell’s legs and lower half down, while Gideon was angling his own body in order to make sure Mitchell descent was painless. Once his legs were down, Gideon slowly lowered his half of Mitchell onto the table. He refused to make any mistakes, because one mistake could possibly be fatal for Mitchell. After a couple of slow seconds, he lowered his shoulder that acted as a resting place for Mitchell’s head and slid a free hand up behind his head to gently cradle and guide it onto the surface of the table. With the task done, he sighed and briefly stared at Mitchell’s bloody yet peaceful face. If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed that Mitchell just got into a bar fight, got hit a couple of times in the face, and is now passed out. In reality, he had no clue as to why Mitchell ended up bleeding all over the carpet and looked like he had been through a shredder.

He felt a weight on his shoulder and turned around to see it was Smith’s comforting hand responsible for said weight. Gideon put on a sad smile for him and placed his own hand on Smith’s other shoulder, silently thanking him for everything he has done today and for also hanging on while Mitchell and Rogers were gone. Nodding with understanding, Smith turned around and sat down on the mattress, a flashlight in hand in order to continue to read the remaining pieces of intel from the original bag that Gideon had before he got shot. Gideon’s eyes found West’s and he looked down to see what the medic was holding. A bowl filled with clean water with a towel resting on top of the bowl was balanced on his left hand, while ice packs, with an alcohol bottle on top, were balanced on his other and Gideon knew what he was planning on doing. He intervened.  
“Mate, you should try to get some rest. After all, you are the one who saved Mitchell from dying right on the spot.” He almost shuddered at that last part. “I can take care of this.” He nodded to the items in West’s hands.  
After a couple of moments of consideration, West smiled and handed Gideon the supplies. Nodding a ‘thanks,’ Gideon set the supplies onto the table right next to Mitchell’s form and rolled up his sleeves to get ready. Before he started, he heard West’s voice from the other room.  
“Before you get started, wash your hands with some of the alcohol. We already cleaned his wounds with the alcohol, however we still don’t want to risk an infection above everything else. Once you are done, use the remaining alcohol and mix it with the water. Just a precaution. And remember to place the ice packs on the worst of the bruises when you are done.”  
“Yes sir” Gideon replied.  
“Goodnight Captian” West called.  
“Goodnight.”  
He was now alone with Mitchell.

After washing his hands carefully with the given alcohol, he dumped the rest into the bowl of water. Dunking the cloth into the water so that it was completely submerged in the icy water, Gideon let the washcloth absorb as much of the mixture as possible before he lifted the cloth back up and squeezed the excess water back into the bowl. Sighing, he sat down onto the stool and leaned forward so he could have better access to the wounds on Mitchell’s face. He gently raised the cloth to a cut right next to Mitchell’s right eye and began to gently dab at the wound and the dry blood around it. He continued this process on other facial wounds until the cloth began to turn red. He dipped the cloth back into the bowl and slightly winced at the once clear water instantly turning pink. He squeezed the excess liquid out before moving to a more deeper cut on his cheek. As he began to dab at the wound, he noticed that Mitchell’s breathing suddenly hitched and more labored from what Gideon assumed was the sting of the alcohol. He quietly began to whisper words of comfort while he continued to clean his face.  
“Easy, Private. Come on, you’ve been through worse. It’s just a couple of cuts that need to be cleaned. You’ll be fine, Mitchell. It’ll be okay.”  
Mitchell’s breathing became more relaxed when he heard his commander’s voice, signalling Gideon to finish his work. He continued to quietly chant to Mitchell until he finished cleaning Mitchell’s entire face. Finished, the Captain dumped the bowl of now red water out through the front entrance. Checking his surroundings one more time, he quietly closed the cabin’s door. While he was heading back to the table, he quickly grabbed the first loaded gun he saw and his own sleeping bag dragged the two items with him into the room. Placing the gun next to the stool, and the sleeping bag on the floor right below the table, he grabbed the ice packs, that surprisingly were still cold, and gently placed then underneath Mitchell’s shirt and over the black and blue bruises that covered him. With all of these tasks done, Gideon sighed and collapsed on the stool he had occupied a few minutes ago. Rubbing his face, he glanced at Mitchell’s debatably peaceful form.   
“You lazy arse,” Gideon playfully whispered, “you made us do all of this dirty work while you took a nap. When you wake up, you owe me 100 push-ups.”  
He was answered with silence.  
He gently let his left hand brush a wandering brown lock of Mitchell’s hair off of his now clean forehead. Gideon then stood up and turned off the lantern, making the entire room pitch black.

He lowered himself onto the sleeping bag and carefully dragged his gun with him. He hid the gun behind his back in case anything, or anyone, appeared and had plans to ruin this now peaceful night. Looking out the door, he saw Smith still reading pieces of intel. Smiling to himself, he turned his head upwards to where Mitchell’s was resting.  
“Goodnight, Mitchell,” Gideon whispered. His mind betrayed the optimism his voice was trying to convey.

‘You better not be dead when I wake up,’ he thought to himself as he drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you all want me to continue or die in a hole (what my sister always joked).
> 
> Take Care and Party Hard :0)


	4. Chapter 4 (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartbreaking discovery is made and a familiar face returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you all!
> 
> So, this chapter ended up being longer than I imagined :/ Sorry about that!! I don't mean to write so much!  
> This chapter will be divided into two parts, the first one I am posting right now and the other one I am not sure when because I have seminars and lectures the rest of the week (to make up for the number of snow days we had).  
> This chapter may be confusing and have plot holes! If you all have any questions or concerns, please feel free comment on the story!  
> Enjoy!

**(July 20, 2063. 12:00)**

Gideon sat on the now bare floor in the middle of the main room. The carpet had been tossed aside somewhere only Smith knew and the room now felt bigger than it did when they first arrived. Every ten seconds, Gideon’s eyes would travel to Mitchell, who still had yet to wake, and to Smith and West, both men evaluating Mitchell’s left arm. If Mitchell still had the arm Atlas provided him six years ago, then Gideon could easily put the pieces back together. Because he had been working at Atlas for god knows how long, he witnessed almost everything that happened in Atlas, from the origin of  new exo-suits, to the construction of prosthetic limbs, all the way to the deaths of rookies under his command. He has seen and memorized the events and the lessons that came with them. Unfortunately, Mitchell, being the brilliant bastard he is, cut off the arm the corporation provided him. For the past two years, Mitchell had been using a replacement arm constructed by Sentinel scientists. However, like Gideon predicted, it wasn’t as clean, smooth, or beautiful looking as his previous one. And the worst part of it all was that Gideon couldn’t be there to witness how the arm was constructed, attached, or functioned: he was constantly out in the battlefield. Whenever he saw Mitchell putting his arm into use in the battlefield, he would always have to guess what buttons he was pressing or what program it was set to; it frustrated the hell out of him because now he couldn’t help his friend even if he tried. He has to sit back and watch other soldiers attempt to fix the damaged limb. Both Smith and West joined Sentinel last year, so despite their personal beliefs, they weren’t as trained as himself, Mitchell, Ilona, or anyone else pre 2062. He just has to trust them.

Smith’s voice broke the silence. “Gideon. You got a minute or ten?”  
Instantly dropping the intel he was decoding, he stood up and walked over to the other room. When he had woken up a couple of hours ago, he felt his body shake with joy when he heard Mitchell breathing: he sounded like he was in pain, but at least he was breathing. Before he went to the main room to review the intel, he, along with Smith and West, moved the table Mitchell was lying on to the center of the room, providing access to Mitchell’s left arm that was originally laying next to the wall. He moved up to the table and stood on Mitchell’s right side, he like had last night. Looking at the cuts, bruises, and the big gash on his head, Gideon could now see the injuries in a better light without them being blocked by dried and fresh blood. They wounds did look painful, but at the same time, not as bad as he originally thought. Smiling at the observation, he looked up to see Smith and West staring back at him with expressions of concern and fear. Gideon felt his smile die down.

“Spit it out,” Gideon firmly yet calmly demanded.  
Both men looked unsure as to who would speak first, but then West spoke up.  
“The damage is severe” West began. “Even if we manage to reconstruct his arm, there will be a serious side effect that will be permanent until he dies.”  
Swallowing bile that threatened to spill out of his mouth, he spoke up.  
“So what now?”  
“Well, we could cut off the damaged part of his arm completely. However, based the stories we heard from Sentinel forces, because Mitchell cut off his prosthetic arm once already, the nerves in his lower arm are already damaged. Cutting it off again may damage his lower arm completely and even affect his upper arm, which could result in paralysis. He won’t be able to shoot a gun ever again or go out into the field. ”

In order to prevent himself from cursing, or even worse, crying, Gideon took a deep breath and nodded.  
“Any other options?”  
“There was one we were considering. We could try to reconstruct his arm with all of the items he managed to save.” West motioned his head towards the pile of wires, screws, and other gadgets at the end of the table.  
“There's only one risk.”  
“Which is?”  
West tried to gather the words in order to make what he was about to say assuage Gideon’s fears, but he was interrupted by Smith before he could find said words.  
“Based on Mitchell’s current condition,” Smith began, looking down at Mitchell’s form, “it could kill him.”  
Before Gideon could say anything, Smith pressed forward.  
“West knows exactly how the arm was built; he identified and counted all of the pieces and is 100% sure he can fix it. The problem is that when we re-attach the wires and other electronic items, they will send dangerous shocks throughout his body, possibly agitating his wounds even further or-”  
“Possibly killing him,” Gideon finished, heartbroken at what he was hearing. He looked back down at Mitchell while West jumped back into the conversation.  
“His body can’t take much more. With or without these plans, he may only have a days left. We don’t know when help will come and by the time we do, it may be too late for him and his arm.”  
West said the next sentence slowly and clearly so Gideon would understand what will happen.  
“No matter what decision we make, Mitchell is going to suffer...but we have to make one as soon as possible.”  
Without a warning, Gideon kicked the stool into the other room in frustration, rage, and pure grief. The action stunned the rest of the soldiers and…  
“What’s going on?”  
Gideon’s head instantly snapped down to the form lying on the table, while West and Smith backed away from the table not only out of shock, but also to give Gideon and Mitchell some space. Both Sentinel soldiers knew the relationship between the former Atlas comrades was strong and they didn’t want to interrupt their “reunion.” After all, their last conversation occurred two days ago when all of them were alive and healthy...or at least alive.  
Gideon quickly made his way back to Mitchell’s side and embraced the idea of Mitchell being awake, maybe not  completely coherent, but awake.

(Mitchell’s POV)

He didn’t know how long he was free-falling in this neverending pit of darkness. In the past, he has gotten up and personal with death, so he knew if he were dying… and he wasn’t. So where was he exactly? Suddenly, he could hear a familiar voice and, despite sounding muffled and far away, was probably the most beautiful sound he has ever heard in a long while. The voice sounded rough, foreign, and...calm? If it wasn’t for the calm part, he would have suspected that it was Gideon’s voice. But as long as he has known him, which has been quite a while, he never heard Gideon sound calm and reassuring in his entire partnership. Before he could think any further, a sharp sting hit his cheek, causing his free-falling to suddenly halt and plopping him onto the dark ground, which he could not see. The pain got worse and worse and when he tried run or escape the pain, he was stopped by an unseen force and frozen in his position on the ground.

“Easy, Private. Come on, you’ve been through worse. It’s just a couple of cuts that need to be cleaned. You’ll be fine, Mitchell. It’ll be okay.”  
Gideon. His guesses were confirmed when he heard the familiar British voice entering his ears. He wanted to call for him and ask him what the hell is going on, but the pain on his cheek suddenly stopped and then moved behind his left ear, causing him to wince. He didn’t know how long he was in pain, but what kept him from screaming was Gideon’s voice and calm reassurance. He managed to calm himself while other parts of his face  began to burn by taking deep breaths and listening to his captains voice. Suddenly, as quick as the pain arrive, it and Gideon’s voice vanished, leaving Mitchell confused and slightly aggravated. Before he could say anything, he felt himself falling again through the neverending abyss. After a couple more what he assumed was minutes, his falling came to a halt and he fell to the ground. This time, however, he had control over his body. Before he could take one step, agonizing pain drilled it’s way into his entire upper half, his legs collapsing from the sudden pain. He fell to the ground and found that no matter how hard he tried, he could not stand up. Breathing became a painful task and he found himself gasping for air. The only thing he couldn’t feel was his left arm and he had no idea why. It was after a painfully titanic crashing noise that catapulted Mitchell from the darkness and into a small light dot that was getting bigger and bigger every second. He closed his eyes and braced himself for whatever was about to happen next

His eyes felt like lead and even when he managed to remove the lead, hundreds of layers of duct tape prevented him from opening his eyes. He had no idea what was happening and, him being him, demanded an explanation. Swallowing what tasted like blood, he yelled out (although it came out as a whisper):  
“What’s going on?”  
When nobody replied, he felt annoyance and fear build up in him, influencing him to, with all of his inner strength, slowly open his eyes. He was greeted by three Gideons, three Smiths, and three Wests, each of them with their own blurry facial expressions that he couldn’t read. He attempted to sit up in order to see their faces better, but he was stopped by unbelievable pain and gentle hands restraining him, preventing any movement from happening.  
“Take it easy, Mitchell. You don’t want mess up our work!”  
Taking a painful swallow, Mitchell slightly nodded and kept himself still. He couldn’t exactly tell where he was, but he assumed that he was in the cabin.   
“Well,” Mitchell continued, “what happened? Why can’t I move without feeling like I got stomped on by ten elephants? Are you guy o-  
“Stand down, private” Gideon gently commanded. “Before we answer your questions, do you think you can stay awake for a little bit while we fill you in?”  
Mitchell nodded.  
Gideon picked up the stool from where it landed after he punted it, and slowly sat down, concern and fear laced all over his face.  
“What is the last thing you remember?”  
Closing his eyes, Mitchell tried his hardest to recall what he thought were recent events. An image of two duffle bags being thrown onto the ground popped out of nowhere, followed by the feeling of falling backwards towards a wood floor. Because his eyes were closed, he felt himself drifting off when he heard another voice enter his mind, taking him by surprise.  
“Mitchell?” It was West. “Are you awake?”  
Lazily opening his eyes, he was looking at the soldier’s faces, which were now in focus.   
“I remember dufflebags and falling...that’s it.”  
He saw the worried glances the soldiers exchanged before Gideon’s voice broke the silence.  
“Okay..okay. This is...okay. Do you want me to fill you in?”  
Mitchell nodded without causing anymore pain in his head.  
“You better not fall asleep on me, idiot. Now pay attention Mitchell. It’s story time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II will be coming up (hopefully soon) and don't worry, things will pick up VERY quickly next chapter ;)  
> *I know I promised that in the last chapter, but I didn't want to rush this chapter because it is kind of a big one if you really think about it! It will contain the decision and the consequences of that decision 0.0  
> I hope that the next chapter will be the bridge to the opening paragraphs in Chapter I (as I said in the previous chapter *facepalm*)
> 
> Take Care and Party Hard :0)


	5. Chapter 4 (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell makes a decision and the group faces the aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all :0)
> 
> I managed to find time to write down the second part of Chapter 4! It may be longer than the last two were, so I apologize about that!  
> Once again, I didn't want to rush through this one (this one is HUGE in terms of events) and the connection between this part and the first chapter are finally made (yet not directly addressed).  
> Warning: There may be spelling/grammatical errors and slight OOC-ness (however you say/write it)!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

**(July 20, 2063. 13:30)  
** When Gideon finished updating Mitchell about happened the last few days, Mitchell only felt gratefulness at the thought of his partners taking care of him while he was out. Gideon told Mitchell everything that happened before and after he arrived at the cabin. He told him about the intel he, Smith, and West managed to decode while the remaining two soldiers left to retrieve the stolen items. He told Mitchell about his heroic act of taking down the eight soldiers with his bike, and he told him about how they took care of him as soon as he passed out in the cabin. The most painful part for Gideon was telling the part when he shot Mitchell, adding an even bigger item in the list of injuries. Before Gideon could apologize, Mitchell spoke as loud as he could.

“It was an accident, Gideon.” He continued, “I was behind the soldier, and you didn't see me, so you took the shot just like we were trained.”  
“I nearly killed you!”  
“I’m pretty sure the bullet wound isn’t the only reason I ended up in my current state.”  
“Bullet just barely missed your heart.”  
“But it didn’t hit it! I’m fine, man. Seriously.”  
Although his guilt still ran cold throughout his body, he sighed and nodded his head. He noticed that Mitchell’s eyes began to flutter and that his previously tense body was slowly going limp.  
“Good” Mitchell replied. “I think I’m going to pass out now…”  
On that note, he fell right back asleep, leaving the men relieved but also concerned.

“We never got to his arm” West whispered when they all exited the room. “What do we tell him when he wakes up again?”  
After a few moments of silence, Smith’s voice finally spoke up.  
“We tell him what we told you,” he directed towards Gideon, “and then we let him choose what happens with his arm.”  
“What if he doesn’t wake up in time?” West’s voice responded, calm and collected.  
“Then we leave it on,” Smith replied. “Unless Mitchell wakes up shortly and tells us otherwise, we should just let the arm be. We can’t risk hurting him anymore right now.”  
“So, if he wants us to fix his arm, we should just listen to him?”  
“It’s his arm,” Gideon’s voice chimed in. “so it’s his decision.”  
Nodding with uncertainty and fear, West concluded the conversation. “Okay, but we need to tell him everything that will be involved with both decisions, from the procedures to the risks.  
The other men nodded in agreement and they all went their separate ways: Smith continued to look at the intel, West tried to get in contact with Sentinel headquarters, failing again, and Gideon decided to take a nap in his sleeping bag in Mitchell’s room.

 **(July 20, 2063. 18:00)**  
Gideon woke up to hear something above him shift. At first his foggy brain could figure out what was moving, but then he was hit with the flashback of Mitchell waking up and the conversation they had. Standing up, he looked down and saw Mitchell’s baby blue eyes staring at the ceiling and then slowly finding their way to Gideon’s eyes. He smiled.  
“Hey Captain” he whispered.  
“Hey Private” Gideon quietly replied.  
Turning his head, he noticed that both West and Smith were asleep so he had to be extra quiet. Grabbing the infamous wooden stool, he sat himself down next to Mitchell's head and stared back at him.“What day is it?”  
Looking down at his watch, Gideon replied, “July 20, 2063. It’s 6 O’Clock in the evening.”  
After swallowing blood that began to build up in his throat, Mitchell nodded.  
Clearing his throat, Gideon spoke up in order to address the major issue the group missed when Mitchell first woke up.  
“I didn’t exactly finish the story...about what happened while you were out.”  
Mitchell’s frowned. “What are you talking about?”  
Gideon needed to see Mitchell eyes when he was about to give him the news, so he stood up and looked directly down at Mitchell.  
“Okay, what I am about to say may hurt you, anger you, or confuse you. Hell, you feel all three emotions at the same time. But I need you to listen carefully, okay?”  
Swallowing blood and fear, Mitchell nodded and let Gideon speak.

After Gideon finished explaining the situation, Mitchell had to close his eyes to let the news sink in.  
‘So no matter what happens I’m going to be fucked over.’  
He slowly opened his eyes to see Gideon’s sad face staring back at him. He could tell Gideon didn’t like the situation either.  
“All we're waiting for is your decision.”  
He thought about both options. On one hand, he could just let it be and pray that his entire left arm doesn’t become paralyzed for good. He could play it safe, risk paralysis, and never go out into the field with Ilona, Smith, West, and…  
“Do it.”  
Gideon was confused.  
“Do what?”  
“Try to fix my arm...I can handle it.”  
“Mitchell,” Gideon replied, “I understand that you want this and we all respect that and will be willing to try to do as you want. But remember, this could potentially kill you. Your body can’t handle anymore stress or problems.”  
“I'm strong” Mitchell began.  
“But you're not invincible” Gideon shot back. Rubbing his face, he continued. “It’s your arm, so it’s your decision. But I can’t stress this enough: you could die. You sure you’re willing to die for an arm you may never see or use again?”  
Mitchell nodded.  
“We need to at least try. Please!”  
Even though he was whispering, he still made his point loud and clear. Gideon sighed and put his hand on Mitchell’s flesh shoulder.  
“Okay. I’ll let the others know tomorrow and we’ll give it a shot first thing in the morning.” He could see that Mitchell’s eyes were starting to droop with exhaustion. “Get some sleep.”  
Closing his eyes with a sigh, Mitchell felt the tugs of sleep pulling at him. However, before he went completely under he whispered:  
“Thanks, Gideon.” He fell back asleep.

Smiling, he squeezed his sleeping partner’s shoulder gently before laying back down on his sleeping bag. The different possibilities of Mitchell not being able to fight alongside him again, move his arm ever again, or even be by his side alive ran through his mind. No matter what happened tomorrow, he would lose the Mitchell he had come to love like a brother forever.

 **(July 21, 2063. 10:00)**  
West and Smith were organizing all of the pieces of Mitchell’s arm ready while Gideon sat by Mitchell’s head, his hand gently pressing his shoulder. Mitchell was awake and full of anticipation (and maybe some fear): He would either wake up with his arm again or never wake up again. To be honest, he wasn’t afraid of dying...hell he had nearly died a couple of days ago. No. He was afraid of losing Sentinel and Gideon...he didn’t want to sit on the sidelines working of papers and sitting in an office. He enjoyed the adrenaline fighting provided him and he enjoyed being right beside Gideon. He liked to be by his side not only to listen to his smart-ass remarks, but also to keep an eye on him in case he got W.I.A and needed to be treated or even carried off the field. If Gideon got hurt without him being able to help….that would kill him. He needed to give this a shot and to be there for Gideon. And if it fails, at least he died trying to keep him safe.  
“Alright soldier,” West’s said, “are you ready?”  
Nodding his head, Mitchell took a deep breath.  
“Let’s do this.”

Unfortunately, they didn’t have anything to drug him with so they would have to operate on Mitchell while he was awake. Thankfully, Gideon was the supplier of comfort for him; he whispered words of reassurance and comfort before the process began would continue to do so during. While Mitchell looked up at Gideon, Gideon was looking at West and Smith, silently asking them if they were ready. The men nodded. Gideon moved his attention back to Mitchell, who was still looking up at him.  
“It’s going to be alright.”

The process took three hours to complete. Occasionally, Mitchell would twitch his left arm or even jolt his entire body when an electric shock went through his body. And whenever he did so, Gideon would always hold him down and keep talking to him. When he felt like Mitchell was calm again, he would try to watch the two men’s progress as much as he could. He never got the chance to before, so he might as well use this as the opportunity to do so. Finally, the operation was complete and Mitchell was asleep, his head sweaty and warm. Gideon glided into the main room, grabbed a clean washcloth, dumped a little bit of water onto it, returned back to Mitchell’s side, and gently placed it on his forehead. The younger man sighed at the coolness and briefly smiled in his sleep. Satisfied, Gideon walked over to the other side of the table where West and Smith were standing. The arm looked almost brand new, save for the awkward line that ran vertically across the lower arm. What made this arm great was that there were tiny yet powerful locks on the arm that would securely hold the wire and gadgets in their place within the arm. Whoever ripped open his arm knew about the locks, so that was why they forced the arm to reveal the contents. West and Smith managed to repair them so that it would be harder for any knife to cut it open again.

“Fucking Christ,” West whispered. He still couldn’t believe that they were successful and that Mitchell pulled through. Smith smiled at the results and slowly walked back to his mattress, collapsing belly-first onto the soft material. Gideon and West glanced at each other and moved to the other room, careful not to wake Mitchell or Smith. Before Gideon could think, a flask was tossed in his direction, which he managed to catch. Gideon opened the flask and took a huge gulp, enjoying the alcohol’s burn. After he was done, he tossed it to West who did the exact same thing.  
“You did it” Gideon said with a smile on his face.  
“We all did it” West corrected.  
On that note, Gideon decided to lie down on the wooden floor, embracing the cool touch underneath his back. Closing his eyes, he couldn’t stop himself from drifting off to sleep.

‘Things may turn out okay’ he allowed himself to think before entering a dreamland.

 **(July 21, 2063. 16:45)**  
Something woke Gideon up. Not a sound, but a feeling...a bad feeling. Sitting up from where he fell asleep, he noticed that West and Smith were asleep in their spots.  
'They seem fine’ Gideon deducted.  
He took a moment to reflect on how he was feeling: he got a pretty decent nap in and he still felt pieces of joy from the successful operation. So he was fine. He stood up, grabbing his handgun in the process, and slowly went out the front door to check for any soldiers or drifters. He walked around the entire perimeter and didn’t see anyone at all, so he went back in, shutting the door tightly behind him. With the cabin completely silent, he could now hear someone groaning and grunting in pain. Looking down, he saw that Smith and West were sleeping peacefully so that could only leave one person left: Mitchell. Speed walking to the room Mitchell was situated in, what he saw made him freeze right on the spot.

Mitchell was twitching and groaning in pain, sweat pouring down his face and neck. His face was twisted with pain and confusion and he looked like he was trying to wake up from whatever was happening. Tossing his handgun across the room, Gideon ran to the table and put a gentle hand on Mitchell’s shoulder.  
“Mitchell,” he whispered, “wake up! You're okay, mate!!!”  
His only reply was another groan of pain.  
“Mitchell!!” This time, Gideon’s voice was louder and sounded more desperate.  
All of a sudden, Mitchell body jolted and then began to convulse, his body flailing on the table. Gideon quickly put his weight on Mitchell’s chest and shoulders, ignoring the fact that he was putting a huge amount of pressure on his broken ribs and bruised body.  
“SHIT! MITCHELL!” Frantically looking into the other room where the two soldiers were sleeping, he screamed for help.  
“SMITH! WEST! I NEED HELP NOW!!!”  
Both men immediately woke up and grabbed their guns, only to realize that there was no attack in progress. While West was trying to figure out what was going on, Smith’s eyes found the situation and froze.  
“Oh my god” he whispered as he bolted from his place on the mattress and ran to the soldier in convulsions. West’s eyes followed where Smith was heading and once he saw the desperate look on Gideon’s face plus Mitchell seizing on the table, he got up as well and got to the room with two giant glides.  
“Shit” he hissed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He looked at Mitchell’s left arm inspected the damage. His arm was smoking and he could see yellow and blue lines of electric energy surrounding the arm. He ran back into the main room, pulled out two pairs of rubber gloves, and sprinted back to table, tossing Smith a pair of gloves as well.  
“We need to remove the wires NOW!”  
Smith nodded and was ready to immediately help him out. Suddenly he froze and grabbed West by the shoulders, forcing him to look at him.  
“What the hell are you do-”  
“The locks.” West knew automatically what he meant.  
“What are you two waiting for?” Gideon’s voice sounded impatient and worried.  
“When we fixed his arm, we fixed the security locks as well. They already were hard to break, which is probably why whoever ripped his arm open did what they did. We fixed the locks and now we can’t open them!”  
Gideon’s grip on Mitchell loosened slightly at the news, only to tighten when he heard Mitchell groan.  
“The fuck are we suppose to do now?”  
He was answered by the sight of Smith holding a knife in his hand.  
“We are going to cut off his arm? Again? His arm is already in awful shape, if we cut it now it could be permanently damaged!”  
“We are going to try to re-open the arm the way it was previously opened. Thankfully, the previous opening permanently weakened the security. If we cut it off completely, it will create even more damage where there wasn’t any before. We might as well damage the part that is already damaged.”  
Closing his eyes to prevent tears from spilling out, Gideon nodded.  
West angled Mitchell’s arm to that the “scar” was face up and then pinned the arm down, his rubber glove acting as an insulator to prevent him from getting shocked. The point of the knife that Smith was holding was touching the arm, right where the incision began. Looking up at Gideon with sadness and grief, he composed himself and went back into soldier mode. Nobody in the room heard his silent apology to Mitchell.  
“Alright. One...TWO...THREE!!!!”

He pushed the knife into Mitchell’s arm and slowly began to slice through the material. While he did so, Mitchell chose that moment to wake up, sit upwards, and scream so loudly that it could be heard miles away. His eyes were filled with fear and pain.  
As soon as Mitchell sat up on the table, Gideon tried to push him back down, only to have Mitchell pop back up again over and over. Finding another approach, he wrapped one arm around his shoulders and placed the hand on his free arm on Mitchell’s chest.  
“Oi! Mitchell, calm the fuck down.” He tried to sound stern, but he failed miserably and he knew it. He tried a different approach. He moved his body so that he would be facing Mitchell. He kept his hand on Mitchell’s heaving chest and moved his other hand to the back of Mitchell’s head, cupping it firmly but without causing him any pain.  
“Mitchell,” he whispered more quietly, “I need you to listen to me. Now is not the time to disobey your Captain.” He felt a small flutter of relief when he saw that Mitchell was looking directly into his eyes, although he was still in pain. Gideon continued. “It’s going to be alright. You're the toughest soldier I know and can pull through this! You have to trust me that everything is going to be okay. Copy?”  
Mitchell nodded quickly. He also managed to say something through the pain that nearly broke Gideon right on the spot.  
“It hurts.” His words were only filled with pain, grief, and exhaustion. He sounded like a young boy way back when...not the soldier he was now. Gideon smiled sadly at Mitchell and leaned forward so that Mitchell could rest his head on top of his shoulder. Mitchell buried his head in Gideon’s neck, breathing heavily and occasionally whimpering in pain. Despite the body in his arms constant twitching and jolting, Gideon continued to hold him, whispered words that he really wished would heal him.  
“I know, I know. I got you. It’ll be alright. Shhhh.”  
Smith and West didn’t notice the, what they would've consider, touching scene. Instead, their focus was entirely on the arm. They tried to work as quickly and gently as possible to open the arm back up and remove the items. After what felt like decades, but was in reality, only 45 minutes, they finally opened the arm. In unison, they yanked out everything that they had only hours ago placed into the arm. When the last piece of the material was gone, Mitchell stilled in Gideon’s arms, head lolling on his shoulder. Taking a shaky breath, Gideon gently pushed Mitchell away from his body, placing one arm behind his back and the other on his shoulders, and began to lower him back onto the table. As he was doing so, he felt a warm thick liquid covering his hand and arm that were supporting Mitchell’s back. When he finally laid Mitchell back down, he noticed that Mitchell's left shoulder and chest wound were bleeding: he had ripped his stitches open. He was about to collapse onto the stool when he, once again, felt something off. He lowered his head and placed his ear so that it was inches above Mitchell’s parted mouth. His worst fears were confirmed: Mitchell wasn’t breathing.

“FUCK ME,” he screamed, “he’s not breathing!”  
West placed two fingers against Mitchell’s carotid artery and after two seconds, he jumped right into giving orders.  
“Gideon, give him chest compressions! Smith will cover rescue breaths! I will monitor his pulse!”  
Everyone jumped right into action. Gideon placed both of his hands over Mitchell’s chest and began the compressions, feeling blood from the re-opened wound seeping between his fingers. The entire time, Gideon went from swearing to begging.

“You fuckwat, come on! Breathe you stupid piece of shit!!! Mitchell PLEASE! Breathe!!! MITCHELL!!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *evil laughter* *falls backwards off chair*
> 
> I really hope you all are enjoying this :0)  
> I wanted to take this moment to say "THANK YOU" to all of the people who left kudos, comments, bookmarked the story, and even glanced at the story!! It means a lot that some people came across it and gave it a chance!
> 
> Take Care and Party Hard :0)


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While dealing with the sudden turn of events after the operation, Gideon reminisces for Smith, and a boy with important information appears...who may be the key to a very important mission!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey :0)
> 
> I found time to write another chapter (and by write, I mean copy/paste what I wrote last night and added a couple of sentences lol)  
> Warning for spelling/grammatical errors!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

**(July 22, 2063. 06:30)  
** There is only one statement that can describe what happened twelve hours ago: Too.Fucking.Close.

The events after they realized they were losing Mitchell were fresh in Gideon’s mind. He remembers every chest compression, every plea, the announcement nearly two minutes later that they got him back, and the overwhelming amount of relief he felt. Right after they revived him, blood came spurting out of his mouth as he coughed, forcing them to move him onto his side in order to prevent him from choking on said blood. As they rolled him on his side, the soldiers noticed the startling amount of blood that pooled up on the table. Gideon already knew that he teared his stitches, but this was the first time the other soldiers saw the blood. Once they were sure Mitchell wasn't going to cough any more blood, Gideon began to sew up the re-opened slash across Mitchell’s back, which was still releasing blood, but thankfully not at the alarming pace as it had been when Mitchell was seizing. After a couple of tense minutes, Gideon finished stitching up Mitchell and gently rolled him onto his back, this time with a clean t-shirt they found in a duffle bag underneath the wound in order to provide some comfort for the abused back. Gideon then proceeded to to re-stitch and bind the bullet wound on Mitchell’s left shoulder, which thankfully stopped bleeding. The chest wound needed to be tended to, but before he could do so, he felt West gently pushing him and Smith out of the room.  
“I need to examine him before you finish patching him up,” West said, “but I need privacy.”  
With that, West turned back to Mitchell while Smith and Gideon stood outside the doorway.

That was twelve hours ago...and they had yet to hear any news. Gideon was tempted to see what was going on, but he stopped himself and continued to lie on the floor. He had drifted off sometime ago and just recently woke up. When he lifted his head from where it was laying on the ground, he saw Smith reaching into his pocket and lift up the contents in it: pieces of Mitchell's arm. Smith stared at the contents for a couple of seconds, his hands unconsciously clutching them with excessive force. Suddenly, he threw them across the room, the items landing right near the mattress, and stormed out of the cabin, picking up his gun along the way. The cabin door slammed closed leaving Gideon in an almost silent room, the exception being Mitchell’s uneven breaths. Looking down at his hands, he noticed that the blood had dried and turned ever so slightly brown...yet he couldn’t find it in him to wash his hands. He didn’t know what to do with himself at the moment, so he choose to see how Smith was doing outside. He grabbed a spare gun in the main room and walked outside.

Smith was sitting cross-legged and staring at the grass that wasn’t covered in enemy soldier’s blood. Gideon approached the guilt-ridden soldier, kneeled down beside him, and placed a gentle hand on Smith’s shoulders, which briefly stunned Smith. Smith quickly turned around to reach for his gun, but then froze at who the stranger was. Sighing, he let go of his gun and looked back down at the grass. With his hands still on Smith’s shoulders, Gideon slowly sat down next to him. Despite the dead bodies surrounding them, the view was almost pleasant: sunlight was seeping through the trees and the summer temperature was perfect. After a few moments of silence, Smith’s cracked voice spoke up.  
“This is all my fa-”  
“I swear to fucking god,” Gideon began, “if you say ‘this is all my fault,’ I’m going to punch you in the face.”  
Smith looked confused. Gideon pressed on.  
“What happened nobody could have seen coming. You and West knew what you were doing and I know that what happened was an accident. Maybe the wires were more damaged than they appeared, maybe there was a hidden item placed in his arm that you didn’t see that fucked everything up. Whatever the fuck happened, it wasn’t your fault. Copy?”  
Smith snorted and smiled. “Copy.”  
They sat in silence for a very long time, embracing the morning sunlight and silence. Smith’s voice broke the silence again.  
“So...six years, huh?”  
Gideon looked slightly lost for a second but then remember what that number meant. He sighed and nodded.  
“Yeah...six years. Hard to believe that we have been brothers-in-arms for six bloody years.” He began to reminisce.  
“First time I saw him was in Seoul, Korea. Atlas was escorting a man and then we fell through a garage and landed right in front of the U.S Marines.”  
“Was it the cliche, ‘love at first sight’ bullshit?”  
“No fucking way mate. To be honest, I barely paid attention to him. The only reason I knew him was because my boss, Jonathan Irons, kept talking about him and his son, Will. They both loved each other like brothers and Jon knew it...then Will died and Mitchell lost his arm. The Marines let him go because of the incident. And then Irons offered him a second chance. He gave Mitchell a top-quality prosthetic arm and he was put under my command.”  
“And that's how it all started, huh?”  
“Yeah. We jumped on buses, killed one of the world’s most dangerous terrorist and his followers, survived getting sniped, escaped a prison chamber that also was a research lab, stormed into Atlas headquarters, stopped a deadly launch, and killed Irons. Fucking hell, we’ve done it all...together.”  
“Do you think you could've done all of that with someone else?”  
Gideon briefly thought of Ilona and Joker, but then shook his head.  
“I’ve worked with some fantastic people while I was there. I became close with some of them...but there is no fucking way I could have done all of that without Mitchell. I can’t imagine anything being done without Mitchell. Sure, there are moments when I want to push him off a cliff, but he is one tough son of a bitch who knows right from wrong. And I respect that.”  
“Do you see yourself in him?”  
“Fucking hell mate, is this twenty questions?”  
Smith raised his hands in defense and smiled. “Sorry” he replied with amusement.  
After a couple more minutes of silence, Smith’s voice, for the third and final time, broke the silence.  
“He’ll be okay, Captain. Like you said, he is one tough son of a bitch. He probably got it from you…”  
Gideon smirked. “Yeah, you're probably right.” Although he never admitted it to Smith, he knew Mitchell was born a fighter. Otherwise Gideon wouldn’t have kept him under his command for so long. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an engine in the distance. Smith heard the sound as well and within a second, both men were standing up, gun raised to shoot.

The sound became louder and louder. It sounded like it was moving at a pretty regular pace: not too fast and not too slow. Suddenly, a hover bike that looked completely different from the other bikes, came to a stop a couple of feet in front of the men. The bike was thinner, lighter, and looked pretty damn faster than any of the bikes they had. A young boy, who looked around sixteen years old and muslim, got off the bike and raised his hands in a surrendering position. Gideon kept his gun trained on the kid and motioned Smith to search him for weapons. After patting down the kid, Smith spoke in a commanding tone.  
“State your name, kid.”  
“Abdul.” The kid sounded slightly nervous but otherwise okay. Thankfully the kid spoke English...it wasn't perfect, but it was understandable.  
“What are you doing here?”  
“Well, last evening I was out camping in the woods by myself,” he said, motioning his head towards the knapsack buckled on his bike, “and I heard a scream. I packed my things and rode over to where I heard the sound. I saw you two and assumed you might know who was the one caused the noise.”  
‘Mitchell’ Gideon thought, remembering the moment the knife cut right into his friend's arm for a second time. Breaking out of his trance, he stepped into the conversation.  
“Where do you live kid?”  
“About 65 miles from here sir.”  
“Why are you even alone in these woods? You know that there are groups of soldiers camped out around here and trust me when I say that they aren’t the friendly kind.”  
“I know! My brother works for one of them...or rather, he's spying on one of them. I ran into him in the woods a couple of hours ago while I was driving hear. He told me about an American soldier that the group captured. They ripped open his arm a-”  
“WAIT!” Gideon’s voice startled the young boy. Collecting himself, he began again.  
“Your brother witnessed this soldier being tortured?”  
“Yes. Although he witnessed the torture..he never took the opportunity to participate in them.”  
Smith and Gideon stared at each other, both thinking the same thing: ‘what a fucking coincidence.’ Sighing, Gideon turned back to the kid.  
“Is everything okay sir?”  
“Kid, we're going to have to talk to you for a couple of minutes. Please.”  
To be honest, Abdul didn’t expect the tough-looking soldier to say, “please.” He must really need him.  
“Okay.”  
He grabbed his hover bike and dragged it the empty corner of the main room. Once the boy was in the cabin, Smith shut the door while Gideon gently led the boy to sit on the floor. Abdul looked at all of the documents and intel on the ground.  
“Did you guys steal these?”  
Both soldiers looked at the boy with a concerned look.  
“It doesn’t matter, kid.”  
After speaking a few words none of the soldiers could identify, Abdul addressed them. “Oh my god... These are the kind of documents my brother has been searching for! Some of them list where the other bases are, the names of the soldiers, the technology they have. This is amazing!”  
Smith face-palmed. ‘Where the hell was this kid earlier?’ Suddenly, an idea popped into his head.  
“Look Abdul, we need some important information from you. How about we make a deal? You tell us what you need and we give you some of the intel.”  
He received a hard punch in the arm by Gideon.  
“Are you insane?! We went through all of this hell just to give him al-”  
“This kid came from somewhere and his brother saw Mitchell get hurt! He could lead us to his place where the reception isn’t shit...he can get all of us home, Gideon.”  
Gideon’s face brightened up. ‘We could get Mitchell home.’ He nodded.  
“Do we have a deal?” He extended his arm and opened his palm, offering the boy a handshake. The boy smiled and nodded.  
Before they began the conversation, West stumbled out of the other room, blood covering his hands.  
“Sorry about the wait,” he began, “I finished treating Mitchell and must've dozed off.” He froze when he saw the young boy.  
“Uhhh,” he began, “who are you?”  
“It’s a long story, West.” Smith motioned him to the floor. “Sit down and listen. You’ll understand what is happening as soon as we begin.”  
Sighing, he plopped onto the floor, sitting across the young boy.  
“Okay Abdul,” Gideon said, “we have a couple of questions for you.”

 **(July 22, 2063. 08:45)**  
When Abdul finished answering all of the questions being thrown at him, silence filled the cabin. The three soldiers were taken aback by the gory details of Mitchell’s torture. However, once Abdul told them all about how Mitchell escaped in the condition that he was in and with one arm, Gideon couldn’t help but feel a small tinge of pride for the soldier.  
‘Good times’ he thought.  
After a few moments of silence, West spoke up.  
“How far did it take you to get from here to your place?”  
“I stopped for the night, so I guess that won’t help. But, if I’m not mistaken, it will only take four hours by motor bike.”  
“What is the highest speed your bike can run at?”  
“120 miles per hour sir.”  
‘Sentinel’s bikes only go 80 miles per hour,’ West thought, ‘probably because of the excess weight.’  
Standing up, he motioned Gideon and Smith to follow him into the other room. While the soldier’s stood up, West said regarded the kid.  
“Please stay there,” he said, “because we may need your help.”  
“Can I look at these?” Abdul motioned at the intel lying all around the floor.  
After a moment of hesitation, he nodded. “Go ahead.”  
They went their separate ways.

When they went into Mitchell’s room, the first thing Gideon noticed was just how pale his friend looked. Mitchell was shivering and his eyes were tightly shut...he wasn’t resting peacefully at all. He looked back at Smith and West.  
“You guys thinking what I am thinking?”  
Smith and Gideon looked slightly confused so West continued.  
“We should go with the boy back to his home and try to get in touch with Sentinel from there. We have motor bikes and so does he and if we move now, we may be able to save Mitchell.”  
“Save Mitchell?” Gideon sounded concerned. “What the hell do you mean?”  
Taking a deep breath, West began. “After we revived him, I looked over his injuries before I finished treating them. The CPR re-broke his ribs, his seizure worsened the internal bleeding, and when his wounds re-opened, they may have let in something that is causing this infection he's having. He’s lost too much blood and is malnourished. His body is too weak to heal itself and we don’t have enough proper medical equipment to help him. Based on his condition, he may not last the rest of the week. The only thing we can do now is wait, try to make him comfortable, and pray...”  
With the exception of the young boy’s whistling in the other room, everything went completely silent. Rubbing his mouth and chin with frustration, grief, and anguish, Gideon nodded and spoke up.  
“Okay. You two go with Abdul and I’ll stay with Mitchell.”  
“Gideon are you sure?”  
“He’s my friend,” Gideon shot back, his voice slightly breaking at that last word, “and I need to be here with him.”  
Smith and West looked at each other and smiled. Smith put his hand on Gideon’s shoulder.  
“We’ll be back as soon as we can.”  
“Unfortunately,” West’s voice chimed in, “if it took him that long to get here by hoverbike, imagine how long it will take us to get back here on foot. No carrier can land in a forest this dense, so we'll have to walk with help all the way back. It'll take a least an extra day.”  
“Fine,” Gideon said, “just leave some medical supplies, weapons, and food for us here. You guys take everything else, including the intel.”  
The men walked back into the room to see the kid staring at the intel, his eyes wide with fascination and excitement. They kneeled down next to him and went over their plan. After finishing, they let the boy process the plan.  
“So, are you in kid?” Gideon extended his hand and was slightly surprised when the boy automatically shook his hand in return.  
“I’m in.”

 **(July 22, 2063. 10:00)**  
After organizing and dividing the remaining medical supplies, weapons, and food between the two parties and packed up all of the equipment, Smith, West, and Abdul were sitting on their bikes. Thankfully, after not being used for almost a week, Smith and West’s bikes seemed to be working fine... the batteries were a concern but if someone’s bike died, they would just hop on the other’s. With the medical duffle bag around West’s chest and the intel bag (that now also held enemy soldier's guns and uniform) around Smith’s, Gideon gave each of them a firm handshake and pat on the shoulder.  
“Goodluck guys,” he said, “and thank you. For everything.”  
“You can thank us when Sentinel soldiers march in here, saving your asses” Smith replied with a smirk.  
The bikes turned on and within a couple of seconds, they were off into the forest. As they were leaving the cabin, Smith’s voice spoke.  
“So kid, why is your brother spying on these guys?”

Gideon and Mitchell now had the cabin all to themselves. Quickly, he made his way back into the cabin, shutting the door tightly before treading over to Mitchell’s side.  
Mitchell still looked like death and his breathing was becoming more labored. Sweat appeared on his forehead and dampened his brown locks of hair. Gideon grabbed the infamous stool and sat down next to Mitchell. He gently placed his bloody hand on Mitchell’s head, not caring that he left tiny flecks of blood in his wake. Mitchell instantly leaned into the touch and sighed, which honestly made Gideon’s heart melt for a second.  
“It’s just you and me now, kid” he whispered. “You better hang in there, okay? Only two more days, mate.” His hand never leaving Mitchell’s head, he leaned back so his back was resting against the wooden wall.

“It’s okay, Mitchell. I’m not going to leave you. Not now...not ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was playing Advanced Warfare with a friend at his college and apparently, I may have messed up the dates. The year the story is be taking place should be 2062, not 2063 :/ If my mistake is actually a mistake, I will fix everything so that it fits the correct timeline :0)  
> Sorry if this chapter has too many coincidences and makes the story cheesy. I'm trying to write a brief story that will connect everything together.
> 
> I am almost done with this! If I am planning this correctly, there should be only two or three more chapters left. And boy, will they get emotional (or at least I hope they are emotional for you all :0) )
> 
> Take Care and Party Hard :0)


	7. Chapter 6 (Present Day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anniversary, a conversation, and a meltdown take place that will change the way both soldiers see each other forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey :0)  
> So...my school had a fire drill at like *looks at watch* 2:00 in the morning, so I was stuck outside in the freezing cold air for an hour. I can't sleep now so I decided to write probably the most important chapter in the entire story.  
> Warning: Spelling/Grammatical errors and maybe slight OOC-ness
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

(End of flashback)

 **(July 24, 2063: 13:50)  
** Gideon sat on the mattress that was once occupied by Private Andy Smith. In order to keep an eye on Mitchell, Gideon decided to drag the mattress across the room so that it was now pressed against the wall that barricaded Mitchell’s room from the main room. The remaining medical supplies and food were placed right at the foot of his new bed, carefully organized and neatly packed. The problem that Gideon currently faced was how little supplies Mitchell actually needed. Ever since Smith and MS Nolan West left two days ago, Gideon tried to keep Mitchell comfortable and healthy to the best of his ability. He spent the rest of the 22nd and most of the 23rd keeping Mitchell’s fever down with washcloths mixed with alcohol, like West had recommended. 01:00 on the 23rd was the worst for Mitchell. At times he would toss and turn in his delirium, which would knock the washcloth off of his forehead and threaten to tear his stitches, which thankfully never happened. After a couple of minutes of silence, he would then mumble names. Will, Ilona, Cormack, Knox, and Gideon. It was mostly the Captain’s name that Mitchell called out and Gideon himself felt horrible and guilty when he tried to reassure him with words, knowing that they would be unheard. He tried to feed the sick soldier some water and tiny pieces of crackers, but they would almost immediately be thrown right back up or coughed out and mixed in the small puddle of blood. Gideon didn’t mind cleaning up the bloody vomit off the floor, talking to an unconscious Mitchell for nearly 24 hours, or feeding his friend nutrients like a six year old boy: as long as Mitchell was healing, he would be willing to do anything. Finally, around 14:00 on the 23rd, Mitchell’s fever finally broke. It didn’t last as long as Gideon had originally planned, which he was thankful for, but it still concerned him how little he ate or drank. As soon as he felt like Mitchell was out of the danger zone, Gideon dragged his feet across the room and promptly passed out on the mattress, his body begging for sleep. He slept until 11:00 on the 24th, which was today. Now he sat on the mattress, staring across the room and occasionally out the window. Unless he needed to take a piss, he didn’t dare to leave Mitchell’s side: as demonstrated after Mitchell’s arm disaster, things can take a turn for the worst when you least expect it. Deciding to check on Mitchell, he stood up, stretching his muscles in the process, and slowly made his way to the form lying on the table.

He was about to sit down on stool when he noticed that his friend’s chest was bleeding, again. Sighing, he walked back to grab the medical supplies he needed, went back to Mitchell’s side, and then slowly and carefully re-stitched and bound his wound for a third time since Mitchell got shot. By now, Gideon has become so good at stitching wounds that he could probably stitch himself up while bleeding to death in a battlefield, all while drifting in and out of consciousness, with no problem at all. He probably should feel proud knowing that he now obtained that skill, but then again, the person who gave him the opportunity to practice patching up skills was his friend who wasn’t in any condition to move around. After completing the task, Gideon tossed the used bandages and medical supplies at the end of the room, and slowly sat back down on the stool, pushing his legs outwards. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was now 14:00. Any feelings of hope or euphoria died down every hour Sentinel soldiers haven’t appeared at their doorstep, and Gideon was feeling despondent and heartbroken. Gideon sadly glanced to his left, eyes scanning the pale and weak soldier on the table; the stories Abdul told him about Mitchell getting his head slammed twice into a desk, as well as getting brutally beaten by a knuckle duster and metal baseball bat, and then his arm ripped open coming back to him. Unable to stare at the dying soldier anymore and the memories that came along with him, Gideon’s eyes traveled to his hands, which were covered in blood. The blood on his hands after he patched up Mitchell now were dry, which gave him some relief when he concluded that Mitchell didn’t lose that much blood and he patched him up quick so he couldn’t spill anymore blood. ‘He shouldn’t be in this position’ a thought that suddenly popped into his mind. ‘Mitchell should be awake right now. Talking about the same old shit again with that trademark smile that makes me to punch it right off of his face, playing with all of the toys and gadgets, asking annoying questions.’ His eyes unintentionally found the 45 Extended Mags lying on the floor across the room where he had tossed it when he saw Mitchell twitching and groaning three days ago. Guilt suddenly hit Gideon, making him feel he felt physically ill: he shot Mitchell and his wound is one of main reasons why the CPR became more life-threatening. No matter how many times Mitchell could convince him, Gideon will always live with the guilt that he shot his closest ally. Closing his eyes and burying his head in his hands, ignoring the metallic smell of blood, Gideon continued to slowly let his emotions hit him. ‘Fuck, how did we end up here?’ he thought as he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. Suddenly, he heard a weak moan coming from Mitchell.

Snapping his head back up, he saw that Mitchell had moved his head so that it was now facing Gideon rather than same spot on the ceiling. In order to make sure that Mitchell knew he was right here, Gideon moved his left hand to Mitchell’s head: while the main four fingers snaked their way into Mitchell’s sweaty yet still fluffy hair, his thumb began to gently stroke Mitchell’s forehead in a rhythmic and gently manner. He bent his upper body down so that his eyes were meeting Mitchell’s. Despite the lower angle, he could still see that Mitchell’s eyes were slightly unfocused and were trying extremely hard to clearly see Gideon’s face. After a couple of seconds of silence, Mitchell managed to focus on Gideon. The smile he put on was weak, but it was good enough for Gideon. He faintly smiled back, his left hand continuing the routine it has now created. Suddenly, the smile on Mitchell’s face faded and was replaced by a frown. After swallowing blood that began to once again reach his mouth, Mitchell whispered:  
“It didn’t work, did it?”  
The way the words were spoken were slightly slurred and spaced out, but the emotions and meaning behind them were as loud as a bomb. Gideon shook his head, grief and sorrow sketched on him.  
“I am so sorry, mate.” Despite the fact that Mitchell’s eyes had closed once again, Gideon knew that he was awake and continued.  
“It worked for a while and we thought we gave you your arm back. We don’t know what happened but after a couple of hours, your body went into convulsions and your arm began to smoke and electric bolts were wrapped around your arm. We had to remove all of the wires and items you collected...it was killing you.”  
Gideon noticed tears slowly making their way down the bridge of Mitchell’s nose. Instinctively, he brought up his free hand, considering that his left hand was still comforting Mitchell, and used his thumb to wipe away the tears that continued to pour out.  
“Hey now, don’t cry,” he gently whispered, “we'll figure something out, okay? There have been plenty of times when one of us was out of the game temporarily, but we still managed to stay together! We'll figure something out...we always do.”  
Ignoring Gideon’s words of comfort, and slight pity, Mitchell continued to silently cry. Then he said something that would stay with Gideon until the day he died:  
“I can’t fight next to you anymore...I can’t take care of you anymore.” Those slurred and choppy words froze Gideon’s world.  
‘Is that why he wanted us to try to fix his arm? So he can keep me safe??’ Gideon decided to investigate.  
“What do you mean,” he began to ask, “that you can’t take care of me anymore?”  
Mitchell slowly continued, his eyes never steering away from Gideon’s.  
“I don’t want to sit at a desk while you get shot at. I want to be able to help you if you fall..after all you always have. I care about you and just want to make sure you will always have someone to catch you…”  
Gideon felt huge waves of guilt, grief, respect, and love for Mitchell as soon as he finished his sentence.

‘He was willing to put himself at risk so I could be safe...He nearly died for me, a cold-hearted, impatience, hot-tempered, and slightly clueless Captain.’

Swallowing all of the emotions that threatened to come out in a single sob, he looked back at Mitchell, who was still staring at him. Despite his hard and quiet tone he was about to share with Mitchell, his fingers continued their gentle and rhythmic stroking. He brought his other hand, that was originally brushing away tears, up to Mitchell’s neck and gently cupped it, his thumb catching tears that began to slide down the Private's cheek. He said:  
“Mitchell, I need you to listen to me very carefully. My life is not worth risking your life. I've been in this world longer than you have and believe me when I say this, I have learned how to survive the worst of the worst until help arrives...unless a bullet enters my brain, I will keep fighting until my bones become brittle and I have to be placed in those fucking mental hospitals they always show on _60 Minutes_. I can take care of myself. And you need to take care of yourself as well. You nearly died for me. Fucking hell, you actually did die for me for a few seconds…”  
The memory of blood seeping between his fingers and him begging Mitchell to stay with him forced Gideon to close his eyes for a couple of seconds. He opened them and continued to talk to Mitchell.  
“You don’t know what it means to me to hear someone say that they are willing to die for me not because I’m their Captain, but because of who I am as a person. I'm thankful and indebted to have someone by my side who is willing to risk everything to keep me safe. But that doesn't give you an excuse to throw yourself into danger. Promise me that you won’t be as suicidal as you were three days ago from now on. Private, do you copy?”  
Mitchell, taking in all of what Gideon said, nodded with the full intent of keeping the promise.  
“Copy that, Captain.”  
Suddenly, Mitchell began to cough violently, shooting out small chunks of blood onto the table’s already bloody surface. Gideon removed his hand from Mitchell’s neck and placed it on his heaving chest.  
“Deep breaths, Mitchell. Just like training.”  
After a couple seconds of violent coughing, Mitchell lowered his head back to its previous position, facing Gideon. He closed his eyes at the soothing touch of the thumb gently stroking his forehead and carding its way through his hair. He sighed with comfort. Despite the fact that his entire body felt like it was on fire and crushed by a lead beam, he felt warm and safe knowing that his Captain is next to him, soothing him with words and touches...the warmth could also mean that his best friend Death was nearby, but he didn’t want to think about the warmth like that. His eyelids suddenly felt very heavy and he felt his body shutting down from physical and emotional exhaustion. But before he went fully under, he felt a soft fabric slide underneath his head, acting as a pillow, and water bottle being pressed to his lips.  
“Try to keep it down this time, mate.”  
Nodding, he took tiny sips of water, relishing the cool feeling it brought to his sore throat. He sighed and mumbled one last thing before he went back to sleep:  
“I'm really sorry, brother.” With that, he was out.  
Gideon whispered in the sleeping man’s ear, “It's alright, mate. Sleep.”  
He slowly removed his hand from Mitchell’s forehead and hair, stood up from the stool, glanced at Mitchell to make sure he was sound asleep, picked up the stool and then tossed it with all of his strength into the other room.

His footsteps shook the entire cabin as he walked over to the fallen stool. He picked it up by the legs, and slammed it against the wall across, pieces of wood flying everywhere. Once the main structure of the chair was destroyed, he picked up the biggest pieces and slammed them against the floor until he couldn’t hold onto the piece anymore. Satisfied that one big piece was finished, he moved onto the next piece and threw it against the back wall, shattering it into small pieces. He picked up the final leg and and then threw it to where the medical supplies and food were located neatly at the foot of the mattress. Without messing up the organized items, he picked up the leg and smashed it with all of his force against the ground again and again, almost looking like he was hammering an invisible nail into the ground. The entire time he was destroying the stool, emotions that he bottled up for so long just burst out.

‘EVERYTHING IS MY FAULT’ Gideon thought as he continually slammed the leg against the ground. ‘I dropped the intel’ *slam* ‘I got injured’ *slam* ‘I lost Rogers’ *Slam ‘I got Mitchell tortured’ *SLAM*  ‘I shot Mitchell’ *SLAM* ‘I’M THE REASON HE NEARLY DIED’ *SLAM* ‘I’LL BE THE REASON HE DOESN’T PULL THROUGH’ *SLAM* *SLAM* *SLAM*

When Gideon finally destroyed the chair, he sank down onto the mattress and buried his head in his hands, finally letting tears flow down his face. Although he couldn’t keep his tears under the control, he managed to suppress the sobs that almost escaped his mouth. After half an hour of tears, internal blame, and silent apologizes, the Captain calmed down and lied down on the bed.

“Happy Seven Years” he whispered to Mitchell, whom he assumed was sleeping. Little did he know that Mitchell was awake and had remained awake throughout his entire meltdown...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the hardest chapter I have written. I tried my hardest to try to characterize how Mitchell and Gideon would react in their current situation and I hope I was successful!  
> Let me know if I failed :D Also, if you have any questions/comments/concerns/insults/thoughts of love, please feel free to contact me in the comments! I'll be more than happy to communicate with you all!
> 
> There will be two more chapters and I planned them out, so I should have them done by the end of this week/beginning of next week!
> 
> Take Care and Party Hard :0)


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is quickly running out for Mitchell when he takes a serious turn for the worst.
> 
>  Gideon begs, explanations are given, a new mission begins, and an old ally makes their final appearance forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey :0)
> 
> This is the second to last chapter in my story!  
> Warning: Grammatical/Spelling errors and maybe slight OOC-ness
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**(July 24, 2063: 15:00)  
** An hour after his meltdown, Gideon still remained on the mattress without actually falling asleep. There were too many memories, emotions, and scenarios that forced him to remain awake. He despite his lack of exhaustion, he wanted to close his eyes for a bit and sleep, but his mind wouldn’t let him. Suddenly, harsh and wet coughing from the other room pushed all of his emotional angst to the side and he was at Mitchell’s side in two swift steps.

Mitchell was continuing to cough up blood and it sounded painful. Gideon could see that he was trying his hardest to even out his breaths, but was failing horribly. Mitchell’s eyes were at half-mast and looked unfocused. Gideon knew that he, once again, had a fever because of his wounds. Gideon grabbed some water and a washcloth, poured the liquid onto the cloth, and placed it on Mitchell’s head, ignoring how violently his friend flinched from the sudden change in temperature. Gideon knew that Mitchell wouldn’t be able to stand much more of this: they had to leave as soon as they can.  
“Mitchell,” Gideon whispered, bending down so that his mouth was inches away from his ear, “stay with me, okay? I know you are in pain, and I am trying to keep you comfortable. But you gotta meet me halfway, mate. You have to hang in there so all of my hard work wouldn’t have been for nothing.”  
‘And so I don’t lose you’ he silently added.  
Mitchell didn’t reply, but instead continued to stare at Gideon, as if he were trying to identify who he was. Suddenly, as if an angel dropped from heaven in order to end the fuckfest that had been taking place the last week, Gideon heard West’s voice.  
“They’re in there!”  
“Holy Christ,” Gideon whispered, “we get to go fucking home.” He placed his hand on Mitchell’s flesh shoulder and gently shook him.  
“Mitchell,” he whispered, “help is here. Come on, you don’t want to leave just when help arrived. You just have to stay with me until they come here, okay?”  
Mitchell’s response, to Gideon’s horror, was closing his eyes and coughing more blood than he had in the past couple of days and moaning feverishly. Gideon began to panic.  
“Shit.” He ran to the cabin’s door, grabbing his gun in the process, and went outside, flailing his free hand in the air.  
“OI,” he screamed, “we need help in here! NOW!”  
He saw about eight Sentinel soldiers, three of them medics, run towards him. West was leading the group. When the group arrived at the cabin, Gideon pointed at the cabin.  
“Private Jack Mitchell is in the room to the left of the main room. He’s coughing up buckets of blood and has a pretty bad fever.” Nodding their heads, the three soldiers ran into the cabin, each carrying bags of medical supplies. West walked over to Gideon and gave him a hug, a gesture that Gideon immediately returned. After a moment or two, they released each other and looked at each other, smiles stretched across their faces. 

“Where’s Smith?”  
“He is back at the Sentinel base with the intel, Abdul, and his family. Apparently Abdul’s family were victims in the ‘Attack on America.’ They had moved to America in order to begin a new life. However, after the powerplants were destroyed, they lost everything: their home, belongings, money, and friends. They were forced to move back here. Once Abdul and his brother found out that Irons and was responsible, they decided to fight against Atlas when it was beginning to fall. His brother in particular wanted to take down any Atlas communities that were growing around this area, so he enlisted in one of the groups and spied on them for a while.”  
“And they didn’t know that he was spying on them?”  
“Nope, he enlisted claiming that he wanted Atlas to rise into power again. He created a fake identity and everything. He didn’t want to put his family in jeopardy, so he didn’t communicate with them for a very long time. Abdul and his brother found each other in the woods by chance. It was only the day Abdul and his brother reunited in the woods, where Abdul later found us, and had their first conversation about what his plan was.”  
“Fucking hell,” Gideon muttered, “Abdul’s brother sure has some balls. Why are they at Sentinel HQ?”  
“So we can ask them a couple of questions about the intel, give them a much better home, and maybe enlist his brother to join us...under your command”  
“Well, he sounds like he has courage, so he’ll do just fine with us. Plus his brother is the reason you guys are here, so that gives him an extra brownie point. What about the base Mitchell escaped from? There is no bloody way he killed all of the soldiers. There is bound to be a couple hiding in there…”  
“Another Sentinel squad is currently raiding the fortress as we speak. They plan on interrogating a couple of soldiers and collecting any intel Mitchell may have missed. Other than that, the base will be completely emptied by the end of the day.”  
Taking all of that news in, Gideon actually breathed out a short laugh of relief. ‘Karma at its finest’ he thought.  
The three medics came walking out with Mitchell lying on a stretcher: two of them were carrying the stretcher while the third one was holding an IV bag filled with blood above him.  
“There is a carrier about 25 miles South from here,” the medic holding the bag said, “if we want to give Mitchell a fighting chance to survive the night, we should leave now.”  
Nodding quickly, Gideon ran back into the cabin, collected all of the remaining supplies and weapons, stuffed them into the bag, and then headed back out to join the gang. He quickly glanced at the now completely empty cabin, the bad and good memories flashing before him. His eyes found the tiny pieces of the stool he destroyed that now laid scattered across the floor. Smirking, he closed the door tightly, closing this part of their lives for good.

He jogged towards the gurney carrying Mitchell and smiled sadly. He bent down so that he was close to his ear and whispered quickly and gently:  
“Hang in there, Mitchell...for me.”  
He stood up and the group began their long journey back towards an awaiting carrier.

 **(July 24, 2063: 15:10)**  
Sentinel Three-One was leading his squad around the fortress. While the other squad was actually raiding the squad, the occasional gunshots and flash grenades heard from the outside, he was searching the outside perimeter for any escapees or intel. Through his intercom, he gave his orders:  
“Alrighty crew, listen up. Michaels and Roberts, you two search the back. Johnson and Waters, cover the East and West walls. Jackson and I will search the entrance. Move out!”  
All of the soldiers jogged to the assigned position. Sentinel Three-One and his partner Jackson were slowly examining the front entrance of the fortress. The first thing they noticed was the startling amount of blood that painted the dirty ground. There was a trail of blood that led to the edge of the cliff they were standing on. Jackson moved over to the ledge and saw blotches of blood spreading downward and stopping at the bottom of the ledge, where a huge dry pool was.  
“Holy shit,” she said, shaking her head, “if that’s Private Mitchell’s blood, he is even more badass than we gave him credit for.”  
“There is a Sentinel soldier, Jackson!”  
Jackson ran back to where Sentinel Three-One was kneeling. The armour and exo-suit was almost perfectly clean, save for the huge red-brown stain in the center of the soldier’s chest. Jackson reached for the body, about to pull off the helmet covering the soldier’s face, but then was immediately stopped by her commander.  
“We’ll let the coroners deal with that shit,” he said, “ so just try to find anything that can help us identify the soldier without touching the body. I’ll call in a medic.” The commander reached for his intercom. “Sentinel One-Eight, this is Sentinel Three-One. We have a soldier K.I.A. His body looks like it’s been sitting here for a week. Laceration wound in the center of the soldier’s chest. We don’t have an identity yet. Meet us at the front entrance. Do you copy?”  
“Sentinel One-Eight. Copy that” was the staticky response.  
When Sentinel Three-One finished, he looked up and saw Jackson holding a pair of dog tags. They were extremely rusty and almost illegible.  
“Do we have an identity for this soldier?”

Jackson looked up at her commander and replied, “Joker. Weird name, don’t you think?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah :/ I wasn't sure who I wanted Mitchell's rescuer to be. But in the end, I thought he would be the only person that would make sense! I may have completely ruined the story :(  
> But yay!!! Gideon and Mitchell get to leave the cabin. Whether Mitchell pulls through or not, that is a new problem that will be answered in the next (and final) chapter!  
> The final chapter will have flashbacks within the present day!!! Just a heads up!
> 
> Questions? Comments? Concerns? Insults? Thoughts of love? Feel free to tell me! I'm all ears :)
> 
> Take Care and Party Hard :0)


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a funeral for his fallen friends, Gideon sits on a rooftop and deeply reflects on his relationship with Mitchell, his own emotions, and one particular memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!! I found time to finish the story :D My way of saying, "Thank you to anyone who left kudos, bookmarked, shared, commented, and viewed the story! I love you all for taking the time to read my first fic!" <3
> 
> Update: *I imagined the song "Sugar Storm" by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross playing in the background during the rooftop scene :) Feel free to play that track while reading the chapter...it may make the story actually good lol*
> 
> Warning: Spelling/Grammatical errors and maybe slight OOC-ness
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!!

**(July 28, 2063. 18:00)**  
Gideon stood next to three caskets, each one of them holding the bodies of his fellow soldiers and friends. Looking to his right, he could see wives, children, strangers, and other Sentinel soldiers sitting, some standing, and silently grieving. He hated funerals: depressing, solemn, and sometimes completely silent, increasing the already heavy tension between the alive soldiers and the families of those who were K.I.A. Despite anyone’s previous ideas, speeches were usually the same: “Such and such was a great soldier, one of our best. He/She died protecting their country, fellow soldiers, and their morals. He/She will be missed.” Then the gunshots go off, then they have to mingle with the families and friends of the fallen, and then walk back to HQ as if nothing had happened. This time was different though. This loss Gideon actually felt and he was pretty sure that feeling of guilt and remorse would never go away for ages. He looked up at Ilona, who was perfectly concealing the tears and emotions they both were feeling. Gideon was first to touch the casket, which he did ever so slowly, trying to think of the right words to say for his very close friend. Once his hand touched the casket, the words suddenly popped out of nowhere. Mentally, he said his goodbyes to his former friend:  
‘You were one hell of a soldier, Joker,’ he began, ‘and I’m sure that if it wasn’t for you, Mitchell wouldn’t have made it out of the fortress alive. I wish I could say I owe you my life...but it doesn’t look like an appropriate statement now. Thanks for the laughs, blood, and dedication you gave me when we were together at Atlas. I’ll miss you brother.’  
He removed his hand from the casket and began to walk away from the funeral, Ilona right at his heels. Once they reached a good distance, Ilona moved forward so that she was now facing Gideon’s face. She smiled sadly.  
“I’m really going to miss that bastard,” she said with her thick Russian accent, “and I’m glad you are okay.”  
She gave him a soft hug, which Gideon returned. He was almost tempted to cry right now, all of the pain, guilt, anger, and heartbreak threatening to spill out onto her shoulder, but he swallowed them down and released her. She turned her head and saw Kingpin looking out of a window, motioning her to go into the car. Gideon saluted him as he parked the car.  
Well,” Ilona began, “I’ve got to go to a meeting tonight. If you need someone to talk to, I’ll be here for you.”  
Gideon smiled. “Aren’t you always?”  
With that, Ilona shook his hand and walked towards the car. It was at that moment when the infamous sound of gunshots echoed in the air for all to hear. Closing his eyes, he knew what was about to happen: condolences for the families and friends. Sighing, he made his way back to the funeral where everyone was beginning to stand up.

After half an hour of apologies, light jokes, and an occasional lie, Gideon was now standing by himself at the graves. He couldn’t help but stare down at them for a while, stories and memories coming back to him. Deciding that he should head back to HQ, he gave the graves a salute and began to head to his vehicle. As soon as he reached his car, he began to unlock the door when he suddenly had a feeling...a good one this time. Turning around he saw Private Jack Mitchell standing right where he was moments ago, at the graves of his fallen friends. Shocked and slightly horrified, he began to walk back to him.  
As he approached Mitchell and could now get a good view of him without him getting in his line of vision, Gideon notices a couple of things that he hadn’t noticed the last time he saw Mitchell. First thing he noticed was how the gash that previously marked Mitchell’s forehead looked neater and healed compared to the last time he saw him. Cuts and bruises still were visible, but at least they now had the chance to heal quicker and better. Second, he noticed that his left arm was in a sling, but it was supporting a full arm, not just a stump. That took Gideon by a huge surprise. He also took note at how much color was on his face, which was pale as snow the last time he saw him. And the final observation was that, despite the grievous injuries that still haven’t healed, Mitchell was walking, standing, awake, and healing. He knew that the process for his physical and mental wounds would take a long time to heal, but he would always be there when he needed him to be. He owed him that...Pushing the relief aside, Gideon got into Captain mode and put a hand on Mitchell’s shoulder that wasn’t in a sling.“Oi, Private,” he began, voice strict but not too serious, “aren’t you suppose to be back at the hospital? Resting? You do realize that Nurse whatever her name is, is going to have a huge fit and I don’t want calls at two in the morning with her screaming at me that you snuck out.”

Mitchell slowly turned his head around and stared at Gideon, his eyes that were moments ago filled with tears now filled with happiness and relief. Without saying a word, Mitchell took one giant step and gently pulled Gideon in for a hug.  
‘I’m getting too soft,’ Gideon thought before his wrapped his arms carefully, avoiding the wounds, and gently around Mitchell’s shoulders. He closed his eyes, Mitchell doing the same, to take in the fact that Mitchell was alive and breathing better; not comatose, not vomiting buckets of blood feverishly or having convulsions every couple of hours...he was here with him and that is all he could ask for. Gideon could feel Mitchell burying his face in his shoulders, and he allowed him to do so, slightly tightening his grip for reassurance.  
After God knows how long, they finally released each other and stood back to exchange looks. They didn’t even need to communicate what they were feeling: they’ve known each other for seven years now and could read each other like a children’s book. Suddenly, Mitchell’s voice broke the silence, a smirk appearing on his lips.  
“You know,” he began, “we never really got to celebrate our seventh year together as partners…”  
Gideon knew where he was going with this statement, but Mitchell continued anyway.  
“I mean, I was going in and out of consciousness while puking my guts out and you were throwing stools around and cursing at yourself.”  
That took Gideon by surprise. ‘I thought the bloody idiot was unconscious.’ Before he could ask how he knew what had happened, Mitchell continued.  
“We should do something special. Just you and me. You got any ideas?”  
A cocky and honest smile made its way on Gideon’s face. He gently wrapped his arm around Mitchell’s shoulders and guided him towards his car.  
“Just one.”

 **(July 28, 2063. 21:00)**  
The view from Sentinel HQ was something else. On one side, you could see the lights of towns, cities, and streets shining right below you. It was magical and made you feel...grounded and invincible. Then to your other side, you could see empty plains and the stars, the feeling of freedom and vulnerability not to far behind. The view as a whole made you feel human; the sounds of horns below and the endless night sky above. You felt balanced and complete.

Gideon and Mitchell were sitting side-by-side on the air vent on top of the roof. They really didn’t want to test their luck by sitting on the ledge of the skyscraper, so they, for once, decided to play it safe. A previously six-pack, now two-pack, under their feet, they stared at both views, silently reflecting on the past couple of days. They remained silent for three hours until Mitchell’s voice ended said long-lasting silence.  
“I’m really sorry you had to go through all of that shit back there.”  
Gideon looked confused but then realized what he was referring to.  
“I just needed to blow off some steam, that’s all. After all, I hadn’t had a fresh sip of alcohol for a week. I was bound to go crazy at some point.”  
“I heard what you said,” Mitchell pressed on, ignoring Gideon’s remarks, “about what happened and it being all of your fault.”  
‘Fuck, did I say that emotional shit out loud?’ Gideon tore his eyes from the beautiful view in order to look downward so that it couldn’t meet Mitchell’s. Despite protests from his ribs and back, Mitchell bent down so that his face would meet Gideon’s eyes.  
“I can’t stress this enough, Gideon. What happened back there was an accident that none of us could see coming. You and Smith getting hurt, the intel and supplies falling, my torture and condition afterwards...none of that is on you.”  
Gideon didn’t looked convinced so Mitchell pressed forward, this time putting his flesh hand on Gideon’s shoulder.  
“You need to understand that just because you have a higher rank, that doesn’t mean you have to carry the blame as well as the responsibility for the mission. The point of having a squad is so that the weight of responsibility, duties, and consequences can be evenly distributed. It doesn’t seem fair to have the Captain carry all of the weight on their backs.”  
Still not convinced, Gideon replies, still not meeting Mitchell’s eyes:  
“I shot you.”  
“I was behind the soldier so you couldn’t see me. We are trained to shoot our enemies without question. You were doing what we are trained to do.”  
“I dropped the intel.”  
“You were outgunned, injured, and on the run. If you went back to grab the intel, I may not be sitting here with you right now. Trust me, if that scenario played out, I don’t think I would be able to stand being here anymore.”  
“Your arm.” Gideon’s eyes gestured to the new prosthetic arm that was wrapped in the sling.  
“You didn’t cut out the wires and crazy shit that was originally in there. You didn’t cause my arm to go up into smoke, so it’s not your fault. Plus, it was my decision...not yours. In fact, I’m beyond grateful that you didn’t lie to West and Smith and tell them I said, ‘no’. Even if you did, I still would have found out eventually; you respected my wish and I could not be more happier for that level of trust and honesty.”  
“You wanted to fight alongside me and take care of me…. So you risked getting killed in order to do so.”  
“God damnit, Gideon. That should be a compliment for you! Having someone that is willing to die for you because of who you are? Like you said, that feeling means the world to anyone who is lucky enough to hear those words, so I don’t get why you aren’t embracing this.”  
Gideon slowly met Mitchell’s eyes, tears threatening to spill. He quickly wiped them away before Mitchell could say anything. Mitchell smiled.  
“None of this is on anyone! Not you, nor Smith, nor West, nor Rogers. Please Gideon. I need you to believe me.” The slight desperation in Mitchell’s now slightly elevated voice caught Gideon’s attention. He didn’t want to hurt Mitchell’s feelings, but then again, he couldn’t stop blaming himself. Mitchell suddenly had a thought and began to smile.  
“Hey. You made it up to me anyhow. You took care of me: fed me food and water, cleaned out the blood I kept vomiting, stitched up my wounds repeatedly, kept vigils over me when I got worse, and even comforted me when I needed it. You haven’t hurt me Gideon...you’ve done the complete opposite and I could not be more grateful and lucky to serve alongside a friend like you: someone who is willing to put their own needs aside in order to take care of their fallen friend. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to convince you that this wasn’t your fault, but I hope you can at least remember that you kept me alive in there, even when you didn’t have to.”  
Gideon smiled sadly and patted Mitchell’s knee.  
“Thanks, mate. I really needed that.” There was no sarcasm in his voice, only honesty, warmth, and love. He kept his eyes on Mitchell for a second longer before looking at the prosthetic arm.  
“So what now?” He gestured to the new arm. Mitchell looked down at the arm and sighed sadly.  
“Well, I don’t think I’ll be able to go back into the field anymore. As happy as I am that I have the new arm and can move my entire left arm, it keeps spazzing out every minute and at times, either burns with pain or just shuts down, leaving my arm completely numb. There is no way I can fight with it now…” He looked at the stars sadly and continued. “The only thing I can do is help soldiers with training and stay in HQ, working more with computers and technology. Not exactly what I was hoping for bu-”  
“At least you are still a soldier, Private. You get to watch my every move on a computer screen and help me train new soldiers. Even if we aren’t working everywhere all the time, we are still partners. Just in a different form. Plus, if I am not mistaken, if there is an emergency on the field, you can arrive on the battlefield as re-enforcement.”  
“I guess bu-”  
“I’ll be sure to take full advantage of that opportunity. And you should too.”  
Mitchell smiled and looked back at Gideon. For the first time in a week, both soldiers were truly happy. Sure, some feelings of regret, anger, or sadness lingered. But the overall vibe was a warm, happy, and relaxing one. They sat in silence for another long period of time. They got everything they felt off of their chests and now could fully enjoy the rest of their night.

After a certain amount of time Gideon felt a weight on his shoulder. Turning his head to see what the sudden weight was, he was greeted by brown, fluffy hair tickling his face. Mitchell had decided to use Gideon’s shoulder as a pillow, to which Gideon responded by resting his head on top of Mitchell’s and closing his eyes, embracing the peaceful moment. He heard Mitchell say in a quiet and gentle manner:  
“Thank you.”  
Suddenly, a memory that felt like happened ages ago, appeared in Gideon’s mind.

_**Flashback (2 Days Earlier)** _

**(July 26, 2063. 02:00)**  
Gideon quietly made his way through the hospital corridors, attempting to dodge any doctor or nurse that may come across him and start asking him questions. This would be the only time he would be able to see Mitchell for an extremely long time, so he wanted this moment to be private and as long as he could make it. 

As soon as they landed at the hospital, on July 25 at 3 O’Clock in the morning, Mitchell was wheeled away into surgery while Gideon was led to another room to have his bullet wound examined. Doctors discovered that an infection was about to spread throughout his body, but because Gideon was in top-notch shape beforehand and wasn’t nearly beaten to death after receiving his wounds, the infection was held off and the doctors ended the infection by giving him some antibiotics before anything escalated into a medical emergency. Once his wound was taken care of, he was sent to his headquarters and ordered to sleep. Gideon was extremely reluctant to leave Mitchell’s side, but the doctor insisted that they would call him if anything happened, good or bad. After sleeping for twelve hours straight, he woke up to see a message on his phone: Mitchell pulled through and would make a slow recovery. They did inform him of the room he would be staying in and also that that that due to his poor health, he would be asleep for an extremely long time, the hospital drugs helping that process. With that information in mind, Gideon decided to visit Kingpin and the Sentinel troops at HQ to discuss what had happened down there. That conversation somehow escalated into funeral arrangements, planning on days to train new recruits like Abdul’s brother, and discussing the intel. When Gideon reviewed his schedule, he realized that there would be no time for him to check on Mitchell starting tomorrow in the morning. There was only one time he could visit him and it happened to provide a decent amount of time for him and Mitchell to be together. Which led him to sneaking into Mitchell’s hospital room in the ICU.  
When he arrived at Room 334, Gideon felt nervous for what he may see. Maybe they cut his arm off completely or that there would be blood spread across his chest; after all, that was the only sight Gideon saw whenever he checked on Mitchell in the cabin. Taking a long breath, he slowly opened the door.

Mitchell was lying on an elevated hospital bed asleep and probably drugged out of his skull. In his right arm, there were two IVS: the first one was hooked to a fresh looking blood bag while the other was hooked to a bag that was providing him nutrients that would make up for his malnourishment. His left arm was in a sling not only because of the bullet wound he received to the shoulder, but also to support his arm...or rather what was left of his arm. The remainder of his arm was a stump that was heavily bandaged and cradled in the sling, indicating that they removed the damaged prosthetic arm entirely. His face was still covered in cuts and bruises, but the nasty gash was now hidden under a patch of cloth, covered by white medical tape, as well as his long brown bangs. His cheeks were still flushed from the fever, however, and it concerned Gideon about the amount of time the fever has remained in his body. There was a nasal cannula that was providing him with fresh oxygen. All in all, Mitchell looked...better than he had in the cabin. At least he wasn’t covered in dry and fresh blood, bleeding every hour. He was sleeping peacefully and that was plenty for Gideon.

He was about to make his way and sit on the surprisingly comfy-looking hospital chair, when he noticed that Mitchell began to moan in his sleep, his brow scrunched up in pain and confusion: he was either having a nightmare or was just uncomfortable. He quietly made his way over to Mitchell and gently placed his hand of Mitchell’s neck. His thumb began to stroke his cheek, being mindful of the cannula, in an extremely gentle and light manner. To his surprise, Mitchell leaned into the touch. Gideon didn’t want Mitchell to wake up from this sudden contact, so he instinctively shushed him.  
“shhh,” he whispered, his thumb never halting its rhythmic and unbelievably gentle stroking, “at ease, Private. shhh...”

Satisfied that Mitchell wasn’t going to wake up, Gideon reached his free hand to drag the chair over to the bed. Plopping himself onto the chair, he slowly tore his hand from Mitchell’s neck and the moved it to his hair. His fingertips gently pushed his friend’s unruly bangs from his eyes and tucked them behind his ear. Mitchell felt Gideon’s fingers on his head and unconsciously turned his head sideways, now facing Gideon, and nuzzled his nose against his fingertips once they reached his ear. Gideon couldn’t keep back the smile that was making its way onto his face. He enjoyed the contact he currently had with Mitchell: it reminded him that his friend, fellow soldier, and brother was here with him alive and healing. Without thinking, Gideon pushed the chair closer, so that is was now against the side of the bed, leaned forward, and gently pressed his forehead against Mitchell’s. He was mindful of the IVs and bandage on his forehead, but he wanted to keep this contact with him for as long as he could before he had to take off and possibly never see Mitchell in person for a while. He angled his head so that it could lie on the mattress of the hospital bed and provide him with more comfort. Closing his eyes and sighing, Gideon embraced every breath he felt tickle his face, the warmth of his body, and the overall fact that he was with him, alive. A weak whisper that Gideon almost missed broke him out of his thoughts.  
“Thank...You…”  
He briefly removed his head from where it was resting and looked at Mitchell, who was staring at him, his blue eyes barely open. He smiled and nuzzled his head even further against Mitchell’s forehead, feeling strands of hair touching his own short hair. He closed his eyes once again and smiled, whispering in return:  
“You're welcome, brother.”  
He felt Mitchell’s eyelids tickle his lips when they fell. Gideon left his head where it laid and took a deep relaxing breath.  
‘Everything is going to be okay,’ he thought, ‘you’ll see, mate. I’ll make sure that everything is okay and that nothing happens to you ever again. I promise.’

**(End of Flashback)**

**(July 28, 2063. 21:30)**  
Gideon blinked his eyes rapidly, pushing down the memory in order to focus on the present. He still felt the weight of Mitchell’s head on his shoulder and looked up at the stars, reflecting on the recent events and the emotions that came along with them.

Nobody had the power to expose his emotions...fucking hell, even the deaths of men under his command never made him this vulnerable. Sure he grieved and put the blame on himself, but he never outwardly showed his grief, anger, or any emotions that could throw him off. Mitchell was the first person who exposed his vulnerable side and losing him in that cabin would've resulted in two ways: he would have either become an emotionless Captain or simply a broken man. Two extremely different sides of him would’ve been exposed if Mitchell failed to hang in there. These were two sides Gideon never wanted to embrace or become, but the fact that one man had the power to reveal and test them surprised Gideon...but also made him feel human. Every conversation with him, all the deaths and betrayals they witnessed, all of the blood they shed together; Mitchell was the man who forced him to reflect on his emotions, questions, and loyalty. He respects having Mitchell be the man who keeps him grounded, yet still make him feel invincible and untouchable. He embraces the man who keeps him balanced. He loves the man who makes him feel human.

He wrapped his arm around Mitchell’s shoulders and lightly pulled him in for a side-hug. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mitchell smiling and felt him nuzzle closer to him. Gideon responded by shifting closer as well, his eyes never fully leaving the beautiful view. He leaned towards his exposed ear and whispered one sentence:

“You're welcome, brother.”

Tomorrow they would be separated: one would go through physical therapy (although sneaking out of a hospital, walking to a grave, and then sitting outside on a rooftop (while still injured) seemed like enough evidence to show how quickly Mitchell is physically healing), while the other would begin training new recruits to join the Sentinel Force. Tomorrow they would be catapulted back to their normal lives and move on as if this life or death mission and results never happened. But for now, Gideon embraced this moment with Mitchell and all of the memories, lessons, pain, and beauty that came with it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was certainly a fun experience and I really enjoyed writing fun stuff alongside four 10-page essays! It relieves my stress and continues to push my imagination!!  
> *If anyone has ANY requests for Advanced Warfare stories they want to see on paper, feel free to write them down and tell me!!! I can try my hardest to write them to the best of my ability :D*
> 
> This really keeps me entertained, motivated, and arguably helps improve my writing skills!! And as I said before, this was my first fan fiction I ever written AND published, so I hope that it wasn't too hideous and over the top. 
> 
> Thank you all who have followed the story since the beginning and for those of you who just discovered it!! It really means the world to me knowing that people gave this story a fair chance :0)  
> Thank you all and I hope to write some more and come across you all again soon!
> 
> Take Care and Party Hard :0)  
> -RogersBz14


End file.
